


The rose with steel thorns

by NCSP



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trauma, alternative universe 6x10, i had to write this for my psychological well being, no wildfire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NCSP/pseuds/NCSP
Summary: The Sept of Baelor didn't explode killing all the people inside.Margaery is still alive as well as Loras, how will she react to what the High Sparrow did to her brother?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “there’s violence in her smile  
> blood blooming on her lips
> 
> don’t you know wolves protect their pack  
> don’t you know dragons only breathe fire if dangers reckons
> 
> and darling, she’s a queen,   
> one who wears a crown that glitters 
> 
> but step closer when she beckons  
> for the things that look like diamonds are in fact polished bones
> 
> she’s the mayhem of the myths, the darling of the dead  
> and the music of her laughter only inspires dread”
> 
> This is How the Princess Becomes the Villain by Abby S

Nothing had gone as planned.

Every deal, every word carefully spoken in order to get what she wanted, all of that gone.

Loras hadn't escaped the sentence she'd tried in any way possible to avoid; Cersei had decided to humiliate them and to assert her stature by not even showing up.

Margaery had to admit that, they had been beaten.

There was nothing to do now, nothing left to try; no more tricks, no more deals, no more pleads.

There was only one thing left to do, but for that to be possible she had to get her brother back.

That was why she was now chasing the High Septon down the hall, trying to get his attention.

“Do you want to talk to me, Your Grace?” He asked, hearing her agitated footsteps on the marble floor.

“My brother. Why aren't you returning him to us? You said that: he's free to go. And now he's been dragged away by your men. Not exactly what I would call ‘free’.”

“Why should he come with you? He's not part of your family anymore, he renounced to his name.”

“Then why can't he just walk out as a free man?”

“He swore to serve the Seven.”

“Not necessarily today. Not after you mutilated him” she spat the last part of the sentence, “You gave me your word you would've avoided that. You'd already obtained everything you wanted, why adding this?”

“I didn't obtain anything. I serve the Gods, and the Gods demand justice. It's not for me to decide in their place.”

Margaery had to bite her tongue, hard, until she tasted blood. She couldn't put down the mask, make things worse for Loras. She couldn't lose her temper, not now.

“At least let me see him.”

“Why should you?” The man asked with his usual frustrating half-grin.

“Because he's my brother and…”

“Not anymore.”

“You can't possibly believe this. You think that a few words can break the bond of blood?”

“If his words weren't sincere it means his atonement isn't too, and there can't be mercy without atonement.”

“I wasn't talking about him,” she retorted quickly, “I was talking about me. He might have sworn to abandon us all, but I didn't. Loras’s still my brother, even though I'm not his sister anymore.”

The High Sparrow smiled condescendingly “I reckon it must be hard for a woman to let go of strong feelings developed through the years, and the Gods value family above everything.”

“Then let me see him. Please.” She grasped his hands, the very hands that gave the order to torture her brother, and pulled them toward her heart.

“Justice can be seen as harsh, and yet it is always fair. I understand your feelings toward Brother Loras, and yet, for Yours and his good, I can't encourage them.” He took a step back, freeing his hands from hers.

She would've slapped him right in the face, but she had to think quickly.

“Don't make me break my word, please.” She uttered, looking down.

“Your word?” The High Sparrow questioned.

“When we were children Loras and I used to talk a lot about our future. We made plans, drew impossible sceneries figuring dragons and talking beasts, imagined ourselves on the top of the world. We were children,” she forced out a fake shy smile, “Sometimes our grasp on reality was a little stronger, so one day I promised him that he would've been the first one in our family to know when I would've been with my first child,” her eyes rose to meet those of the High Septon, and this time she forced her lips to contract a little more.

“You're with child?” he asked enthusiastically.

“I am. And I would like you to educate this child,” she put her hand on her stomach “He, or she - but I feel it's a boy - will have maesters and tutors for history and politics and mathematics and whatsoever, but I would like you to instruct him in the ways of the Faith.” Margaery kept on that mild smile.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

“All I'm asking is to tell my brother. What harm could it be? He'll be happy for me, if not as a brother as a loyal subject of the Crown, and I won't break my word. If you'll be so kind to grant me this favour I could help you get the Queen Mother,” she offered in a small voice, knowing she had to choose her words very carefully now if she didn't want to spoil the web of lies she'd just span.

“How?”

So he still didn't have a plan. He needed her.

“I'll convince the King to help us, I'm sure he will when I'll speak to him.”

“The King already is a true follower of the Seven.”

“You're right, but you're talking about his mother, a mother who still has a very firm grasp on him. When I'll disclose this happy piece of information to him, he'll listen to me and to no one else. He'll also agree to surrender his mother without a fight,” the sweetness she was trying to convey in her voice scraped her throat like she was swallowing a handful of thorns.

The High Sparrow remained silent for a few seconds.

“Fine then. Tomorrow morning you can see Brother Loras and tell him of this joyous event as I try to convince the Queen Mother to listen to reason, if she won't have I'll gladly accept the help Your Grace will provide.”

“That's very kind of you,” her smile grew warmer and she made to the door.

“Oh, Your Grace?” the High Sparrow added before she managed to escape “May I suggest something?”

“Of course,” Margaery turned around in a swirl of silk, her smile falser than ever.

“You should speak to your father. His reactions have been… quite inappropriate.”

“That's exactly what I was about to do.”

She left the hall before he could say anything more and strode toward the wing of the Keep reserved to her family. She had no more time to waste.

When Margaery reached the room she knew her father was into she stormed inside.

“Enough with these shenanigans,” she'd just opened the door with both her hands, the crackling of the hinges still audible in the room, “I’m done with these stupid strategies. We are getting Loras out of there.”

They were all staring at her. There was something different in her. That poised expression she usually wore was completely gone now, substituted by a wilderness which had always been there, carefully hidden by her deceiving skills. Now it was free, a fire in her eyes that threatened to burn them all.

“Tomorrow he'll leave that bloody place and return home. Father, you're leaving now. Order the army to pack up and leave as soon as possible, then ride toward Highgarden.”

“My dear child, what are you…?” Mace Tyrell tried to interrupt her to get a piece of explanation out of her, but it wasn't the right time. Now, behind closed doors, Margaery could finally let free the wrath which had been growing inside of her in the last hours.

She'd had to keep a straight face, to seem cool on the surface, but now she could finally let go.

“Tomorrow morning I'll go get Loras and we'll leave this rotten city. A few loyal men will be with us to help us escape. The rest of our forces will be with you, already heading to Highgarden, so we'll join you on the road.”

She was pacing the room, unable to stay still for a minute longer. She had to do something, anything, but standing in the same place.

“You must be joking.”

“Does this look like a joke to you, father? Have you seen what they did to Loras?” She was on the verge of screaming, unable to control herself anymore.

“Of course I did, my dear, and I want nothing more than to have my son back, but this isn't our plan.”

“Our marvellous plan collapsed a few hours ago when that bastard mutilated my brother in front of us,” she snarled, “Go command the soldiers to break the camp and prepare to leave,” she turned toward two lieutenants who immediately hopped to attention.

“Stay where you are,” Mace stopped them before they could only give the impression of heading toward the door, “You can't be serious. I get you want Loras out of there as soon as possible, as do I,  but we can't go home today. Nor tomorrow for that matters. Yours isn't the plan we rehearsed with your grandmother, she wouldn't be pleased.”

“Grandmother’s _not_ here,” she stated angrily, ” I am. And what I say is that we'll get Loras out of that bloody cell tomorrow. We wanted to get him out today, have him rest for a few days before escorting him back home. We can't. The High Sparrow won't allow us. I tried to see Loras a few minutes ago and he told me he's not part of our family anymore. That canting sanctimonious hypocrite won't allow him to leave and come back to us because in his mind Loras has no reason to come back; in his mind he's one of them now. Our only chance to have him back is to act quickly.”

“If you act too quickly you risk your life, Your Grace,” Igon Vyrwel, the Capitan of the Tyrell’s guard, tried to warn her.

“He's right, my dear. If you rush into this we're all doomed. I won't head toward Highgarden today leaving you and your brother behind. I'm your father and I won't let my daughter’s rage take over.”

“You are my father, but I am your Queen,” she hissed “I'm not asking you to leave King’s Landing, I'm demanding. You will do as you are told, and you will do it now,” she stared at him so coldly the man had to take a step back, “The army leaves today with you, a few men’ll stay behind with me so tomorrow we'll manage to have Loras back. You're not fine with this plan? I don't care. You'll do as you're told.”

Mace was at a loss for words. That didn't even look like his daughter, that was a striking image of his mother when she was younger. He realised now that Margaery hadn't been raised by him or Alerie actually, but by Olenna, so that one day she would've been able to follow the path her grandmother’d already traced for her when she was in her crib.

The woman standing in front of him had nothing to do with that sweet child who used to play with her brother in the gardens. He could see in her eyes she would've done anything to have her brother back, it didn't matter how high the price.

Mace was silent for a few moments before finding his voice again.

“What's your plan?”

Margaery didn't even seem to relax, “You leave now with our forces, tomorrow I'll go into that bloody place with the excuse of seeing Loras. I got the permission to see him tomorrow, only tomorrow, so we'll seize the occasion. A few men’ll escort me in there, so we'll be able to get Loras out, then we'll have to sneak past the doors before they give the alarm and catch us. From then on, we'll only have to reach you.”

“You make it sound simple, Your Grace.”

“I know it's not, but I have no other choice. The only occasion we have is tomorrow, and we have to act before my brother thinks we've definitely abandoned him. He already believes that.”

“He knows you did your best, child.”

“My best? What he knows is that we were there while he was being humiliated and tortured in public and we didn't even raise a single finger to help him, that's what he knows.”

“That was our plan, Margaery, we couldn't…”

“But he doesn't know! He believes we've forsaken him, and he's right. We, I, should've done better. We should've found a solution way before this. So now we have no other choice. We can only go with the tide and hope for the best.”

“Alright, Your Grace. We all hear what you're saying and, even though my opinion isn't worth much, I agree with you. But what we need now is a good, detailed plan, not good intentions.”

“What's your advice, then?” She wasn't even addressing her father anymore. She loved him, but she knew the man was useless when it came to practical matters.

“We should send word to the soldiers now, so they'll have sufficient time to prepare as we discuss our plan.”

“Do it,” she ordered to the two lieutenants who'd been previously stopped.

“Then,” Vyrwel went on once the door had been closed behind the backs of the two men “We must select a few loyal men and instruct them, plan the escape with them too.”

“I don't want any leak, we can't involve too many people.”

“A few minds work better than only two.” He pointed out, “I reckon your determination, Your Grace, but you're not an expert of military strategy. We need someone who knows what we're talking about, who can bring up any glitch in our plan. This way it'll be safer for us all.”

Margaery kept quiet for a few seconds, pondering what she'd just heard. She had to think quickly and she appreciated she wasn't in her right mind to do that; she would've supervised the plan then, making sure to make it the easiest possible for Loras’s sake. She knew he wouldn't have been able to handle much chaos and violence, even if it came from people he's known for years.

“Fine then. Bring me the most loyal men you can find, I trust your judgement,” she turned around ,“Father, you have to leave now. Go with your men, lead them home.”

“I'm not leaving without you.”

“We'll have to be quick tomorrow, we can't have someone who's not strictly useful with us.”

“Then come with me!” He was almost pleading “I couldn't bear to lose both you and Loras in one day. Come with me, leave the plan in the hands of Capitan Vyrwel, he'll be more than able to get your brother back to you in a few hours, there's no need to risk your life too.”

“I must be there. I'm the only reason we'll be allowed into that bloody place, and more importantly my brother needs me. Loras needs me to be there, he won't follow them. If he believes we've turned our backs on him he won't follow anyone but me.”

“He’ll want to leave whether you're there or not.”

“Why leaving if he's nothing to go to? I know him, I'll have to convince him we had no other choice but doing what we did, that we don't agree with that damn beggar and his bloody followers.”

“Then I'll stay too.”

“And your army leaves without you? Convincing,” she said, and eyebrow quirked, “You have to give the impression of giving up on me. Play as if you lost every hope of having your children back. Go away, I'll say you were so scorned after witnessing to Loras’s trial you couldn't bear to stay here a minute longer.”

“I'll look like a fool.”

“You are a fool, father!” Margaery lost her temper. She couldn't put up with him winging about his honour when all they had to be focusing on was how to get Loras back, “They made a fool of you the moment you weren't able to protect your children from a bunch of poorly armed monks. The reason we're still alive is because _I_ gave them a slice of what they really wanted, because _I_ gave them the impression of letting them win at their own game, because _I_ managed to keep my mind clear when I was locked in a cell not even knowing whether my brother was still alive or not, so _I_ will be the one deciding how to structure our plan.” She was almost trembling with rage now, not capable anymore to hold everything back. She had already done that. She'd watched speechless at that show of brutality, stayed her father’s hands in front of what they were doing to her brother, now she couldn't do it anymore.

“You're going home and I'm coming back with Loras. There's no questioning this. This is the plan. You will follow it. Period.”

Again, Mace could only stay silent. He had to face the fact that his daughter wouldn't have listened. Not to him, not to anyone else; she would've probably silenced Olenna too.

“Good. Now go, I'll see you tomorrow,” she didn't even kiss him goodbye nor watched him as he left the room; she simply waited in silence for the men who would've helped her escape from that goddamn city. She didn't see the fine upholstery, the nicely carved table she was leaning against, her eyes kept going back to an hour before, to that man pulling a knife on her brother’s forehead and carving a seven pointed star on it.

She could feel her stomach turn.

She headed for the window trying to ease her breath when a glittering on a mahogany dresser caught her eye.

She settled for letting herself being distracted by the shining little object that turned out to be a well known item to her: it was the little dagger Loras’d gifted her on the occasion of her birthday, before their arrival in King’s Landing.

He knew the place, how dangerous it was and how unpredictable Joffrey could be, so he'd decided to provide her with at least that low degree of protection; he'd promised her he wouldn't have been far and that he would've intervened at any time if necessary, but at least she wouldn't have been totally armless in front of that highly likely danger.

She took the dagger in her hand; it was light, the hilt made to make the grip easier for someone not used at swinging swords or whatsoever. It was the most beautiful part of the dagger: silver, golden roses engraved in the metal, stems and thorns peppering blade and sheath as a floral rain.

She drew the weapon out of its sheath, and the blade caught the light in the process; the twinkle was strangely fascinating to her, made her stare at the fine metal with a feeling she could almost recognise as awe.

The grip on the dagger moved something in her, as if something warm and sparkly was running through her veins.

When she heard the door opening she quickly hid it in her dress, using for the first time in months that little unnoticed belt she'd had sewed in all her clothes just for that purpose.

“Your Grace,” Vyrwel  announced, “Here’re the men I consider best for our purpose.”

“Come in and close the door,” she reached the table, but couldn't force herself to sit down “What's the plan?”

“Don't you ask who they are, Your Grace?” asked Vyrwel, quite surprised.

“Why should I? You know them better than I do, questioning your choice would take time, time that can otherwise be spent productively. So no, I'm not asking. Feel free to sit down,” Margaery addressed the men whose stare was almost bewildered. They weren't used to that version of their queen, they’d always seen the kind smiles and warm voice, the graceful moves and the words carefully chosen to be as sweet as honey, but Margaery was done with all that.

She didn't need to win over those men’s hearts, she needed their help, so no games, no tricks. She knew the situation was desperate and for only a chance of them to collaborate she needed to show strength. She couldn't be the damsel in distress, sweetly asking them to retrieve her brother from those evil monks or she would've started crying, she had to be the mind behind the dangerous plan that could've easily led them all to their doom.

She had to give a different image of herself, the image of a queen who knew what she wanted and who would've done anything, rational or irrational, fair or cruel, to get it.

“What's the plan then?”

Vyrwel briefed the men since he hadn't dared to do that outside of the room, where indiscreet ears could destroy their plan before they were even able to design it.

“It's a bit vague,” one of them commented.

“That's why you're here. To help me devise a detailed plan that will get us all out of here alive.”

“Your Grace, is your presence really necessary? Ser Loras is our friend, I can assure you we'll do anything in our power to get him back, there is no need for you to risk your life along us.”

For the first time, Margaery smiled, “I thank you for your good intentions, but you won’t be allowed inside the Sept without me. And most of all, Loras won't follow you, I have to be there.”

“He knows us, he's our friend, why shouldn't he?”

“Because he needs his family now. He must hear that we're freeing him from me, or he won't believe it. I've been in those cells, I know how those goddamn monks work, but I can only imagine what they may have done to him to reduce him in such a state. I must be the one delivering the news.”

“I've tried to dissuade our queen too, but I would've been more successful had I addressed the wall.” Vyrwel  smiled at her.

“Good, so at least we've decided I'll come with you. How do we get out of the city?”

“First of all we must understand how to get Ser Loras out of the cells, and we've no idea. Leaving the city is the least of our problems now.”

Margaery stared out of the window, and when she started speaking her eyes were still fixed on the building occupied by the cells, “I’ll have to go in there alone. You'll escort me to the cells, but we must wait for the High Sparrow to leave, he’ll surely be a problem if he's there. Then I'll go inside and convince Loras to come with me; when we get out, we must cover our tracks. We'll bring clothes, commoners’ clothes with us, so he'll be able to get rid of those rags that’ll do as bait.”

“A bait?”

She turned around, “They'll think we brought him to the Keep. It's the most reasonable option since Loras isn't fit to go far now, and we'll have them believe that, it'll buy us some time. One of you’ll leave his clothes near the Keep, where even those fools’ll be able to find them.”

The soldiers stared at her. They had no idea where all those strategies came from. Their queen had never given away anything that could've led them to foreshadow a moment like that, and yet there they were, under that determined hazel eyes that demanded to me obeyed.

“Let's suppose this actually works: they’ll notice sooner or later, and they'll give the alarm. By that time you and Ser Loras must be out of the city.”

“They'll recognise them.”

“He's right. Those fucking monks - pardon, my queen - stand guard at all the doors to leave the city. They'll recognise them escaping in no time.”

“We could try to sneak out from a hidden tunnel.”

“Do you know any?”

“Well, no, but we can try to find something.”

“When? Tomorrow morning we are to get Ser Loras out of here, what do you think to do? Ask people in the streets if they could kindly point us a hidden way to leave the city like thieves?”

“We need a distraction,” Margaery interrupted them, “Something that'll draw the guards’ attention away from the door they are supposed to surveil.”

“Were you already thinking about a particular diversion, Your Grace?”

“We need to create chaos. Draw attention away from us, make ourselves disappear in the crowd.”

“We're not enough to fake an attack.”

“No, but we are enough to start a fire,” said Willam Withers, one of the few soldiers Margaery new by name and the only one who’d remained silent.

All the eyes congressed on him.

“Go on, Willam,” Vyrwel prompted him.

“We separate. A few of us’ll be in the near proximity of the door we'll choose for the escape. When we'll see Queen Margaery and Ser Loras getting close we'll start the fire. People’ll start running, screaming, the guards’ll try to stop the fire at all costs before it spreads to the wooden houses and then to the whole city, even if it means leaving the door unguarded.”

They remained silent for a moment, pondering the implications of this plan. Finally, Vyrwel spoke.

“They'll know exactly where we are. The clothes’ trick can buy us some time, but when they'll realise it's just a trick they'll know for sure where to find us.”

“Then start many fires,” Margaery said softly, “At least three doors. They'll be more distracted, and when they'll come for us their forces will be shattered. Lots of them’ll remain in the city to get Cersei, the few they'll be able to spare to come get us won't know where to start.”

“Your Grace, what you're saying is dangerous. The Gold Cloaks can keep one fire at bay, not three. They'll spread throughout the whole city.”

“So be it.”

Her eyes, her voice, were so calm they were frightening. They could see there weren't second thoughts in her now. That decision was final.

“But Your Grace, your people…”

“They can burn along with their fucking city,” now her teeth were bared, a snarl of anger on her face, her voice cold, “They betrayed us. We fed them, protected them, saved them from slaughter and rape, and that's how they repay us. They didn't lift a single finger to come to our aid, they didn't even try to rescue their queen. And I'm not speaking of breaking into the cells and getting me out, but of the time they had every chance of wrestling me from those fanatics. I was standing in front of them on the steps of the Sept of Baelor and they did nothing. They did nothing to save Loras. Without him Stannis would've killed them all.”

“Your Grace, we can't let so many innocents die.”

“Innocents? Do you really think those people are innocent?”

“They've done nothing…”

“Because they didn't get the chance. Do you really think they would've stayed their hands in front of my brother hadn't I stepped in? Do you really think they wouldn't have stoned him to death had the High Sparrow asked them to?” Her eyes were fixed in Vyrwel’s, hatred disfiguring the traits of her face, “No. They would've. Gladly,” she paused, “So now let them burn.”

Silence fell in the room. No one dared to speak. Not in front of that stranger.

They were silent as reality sank in. There had been a radical change in her, something that had eradicated the joyful, smiling girl to make room for the proud queen. It hadn’t been her sojourn in the cells to change her, it had been something else, a line that couldn't be crossed, a line she didn't even know was there before it was crossed.

There was just one thing Margaery couldn't condone.

Her brother's suffering.

She'd never been overprotective towards Loras, knowing fully well he was more than capable of protecting himself, but now… Things had changed, now. He couldn't protect himself from those monks and their wicked mind games, he couldn't protect himself alone, cornered and unarmed.

And she couldn't see him like that.

Nor she could forgive those who'd tortured her brother in front of her own eyes.

They soldiers came to that realisation silently, and with the realisation came the absolute certainty that in that moment their queen couldn't care less for anyone who wasn't her brother.

There’d been a radical change in her, a change the monks had provoked and would've regretted deeply.

“We… we need a map, then.” Vyrwel cleared his throat, trying to regain control over the situation, “We have to find the door nearest to the cells and best to allow you to rejoin the rest of the army.”

The soldiers studied the papers for a few minutes before coming to the same decision.

“This is our best chance at escaping alive, Your Grace.” Vyrwel pointed the picture of a gate in the map “The problem is that you'll have to swim.”

“Swim?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The water isn't very deep here,” his finger touched a point next to the appointed door “So it won't be really hard. It'll help to make them lose your tracks, in the scarcely likely occasion of them using dogs to hunt you down. Please, tell me you can swim.”

She nodded.

She could swim, her first husband taught her.

“Good. We have a plan then: cells, streets, fire, river.”

“And then? We need horses, we can't join the army on foot.”

 “Someone’ll be waiting for you in the woods, we only need to find a place for the meeting.”

“How far from the city?” She knew they couldn't jump on a horse at the base of the walls, but she was also aware of the fact Loras wouldn't have managed to go far.

“Ten miles at least,” the capitan of the guards suggested, followed by the humming of agreement coming from the other soldiers.

“ _Ten_ miles?” She was astonished “How are we supposed to travel on foot for ten miles?”

“You won't have to travel that long, Your Grace. They'll hide further so they won't raise suspicions, but then they'll come to your aid, don't worry about that.”

Margaery bent on the table to study the map, “Here,” she pointed, “Loras told me about a hunting path in the nearby. He knows it well.”

Vyrwel followed his queen’s finger, “It's a good place, and if you're certain Ser Loras’ll lead you in the right direction we can consider this point settled.”

“He will,” Margaery nodded.

“Good. I'll send word to the men who'll wait for you, then we can revise the last parts of the plan,” he took his leave with a small bow. The remaining soldiers looked at her, but since she remained silent they started chattering among themselves, but immediately stopped when Vyrwel returned.

They spent the rest of the day revising the plan, studying every tiny detail, every possible mistake that could've caused the failure of their rescue, and by nightfall everyone in the room could've repeated the plan by heart.

“Your Grace, you should rest now. Tomorrow’ll be a long day.”

“I know. But I won't leave anything up to chance,” she was sitting with the men at the table now, “We'll rehearse one more time and then you're free to go, but I'll keep revising. I still have to study the map.”

“We’ll all stay,” Willam, the soldier who had come up with the idea of the fires reached out a hand and put it on the table, mimicking a gesture of reassurance he didn't dare to carry out completely, “We care about this too, Your Grace.”

She felt like she could almost smile in that moment.

Those people in the room with her weren't simply soldiers chosen to do their duty, they were the men who’d seen Loras becoming the knight he was, who’d grown up with him. They were his friends, and now Margaery could see they would've really done their best to help him.

When sunrise ignited the morning sky with its rosy light they were all ready.

All they had to do now was to wait for the High Sparrow to leave the Sept, then their plan would've come into action.

Margaery left her empty room, all her stuff already packed and shipped home with the army, and headed for her husband’s chambers.

“Tommen?” She knocked softly, motioning the two King’s Guards stationing in front of the door to leave.

“Margaery?” The boy’s voice was so hopeful it made her realise the lack of affection he must've suffered through the years.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“What? No, no, of course you aren't,” he leaped out of the bed to greet her. The first thing he did was hugging her, but she could only answer coldly, “What's wrong?” He asked taking a step back to look at her, then he realised what he'd just said and his eyes snapped wide open, “Oh, I’m sorry,  I shouldn't have… How's Loras? Did you manage to see him?”

One had to wonder how such a sweet boy could've been born to a hateful bitch like Cersei.

“No need to apologise, my love. Actually I'm here to ask you a favour,” she grabbed his hands and led him to sit on the bed.

“Anything,” he looked up at her with pleading eyes. He still felt guilty for allowing those monks to take her and Loras, for not having been able to protect his bride as he'd sworn to do, and now he would've tried anything to make it up to her.

“If someone comes here to ask you where I am, could you be so kind, my love, to tell them I'm at prayer here, in your room, and that no one is to disturb me?”

“Why should they?”

Margaery hesitated for a moment, “That's something unimportant, no need to bother you with it,” she stroked his cheek.

“What's going on?”

“Trust me, my love, you don't need to know, it's silly. Would you do that? For me?”

“I… Yes,” he nodded, but his green eyes were sad.

“It's nothing to worry about, I simply need a little time for myself, to think, to deal with what happened yesterday,” this time she kissed him on the forehead, and she could feel his shoulders relaxing.

“Then why all this secrecy?”

“The High Sparrow might not agree with me staying out of the Keep alone, and I really need to step away from all this chaos,” she looked down, as if she were to hide her pain, “I really can't stay here, in this rooms, close to the Sept. Not now,” she raised her eyes to meet his green ones, showing off the few tears she'd managed to conjure up.

Tommen tentatively reached out to comfort her, “I’ll handle them. Take all the time you need, you don't have to worry about that.”

“Thank you, my love,” she smiled a little before getting up. She kissed him on the forehead, and she had to admit that kiss was truly heartfelt: she was about to abandon that sweet boy in the wolf den, with no one left to care about him. She was betraying her husband, the only pure hearted person in the whole city, and yet she would've done that at any moment.

What she cared about was Loras,

Tommen was… a casualty. No more than that. It wasn't personal.

When she reached the door she turned around, “Tommen? Don't let them get to your mother. You saw what they did yesterday.”

And with that she closed the behind her back and her third marriage.

She knew the previous day’d spooked Tommen beyond saying, so she knew that her little piece of advice would’ve fuelled the boy’s decision: no one in his right state of mind would’ve allowed their mother to undergo the same treatment which had been reserved to Loras, so now Tommen would’ve tried to exercise that little power he still possessed to help that monster of his mother.

There was only one thing Margaery wanted more than to see Cersei suffer, stripped of her dignity and of the skin of her forehead, and that thing was her brother’s freedom. If she had to protect Cersei to gain a little time to get Loras out of the city, so be it. She would’ve had time for her revenge later.

Margaery silently slid in the corridors until she reached the back door, where her men were waiting for her.

“Is everything settled?”

“When they’ll look for me I have a kind of an excuse.”

“We can go, then.”

She looked for the last time at the corridors she’d tried to call home for months and with no regrets she abandoned them first, stepping into the streets before the soldiers.

They sneaked out of the Red Keep with no one to stop them, but when they got to Sept they came to a halt in an alley; there were still too many Sparrows loitering in the proximity of the temple, so they were sure the High Sparrow was still inside. They were hiding in the shadow, and Margaery had to admit that it would’ve been hard to explain what they were doing there if someone were to catch sight of them.

Luckily those bastards weren’t looking that way, and after what looked like hours the chief bastard exited the Sept from the very door that led to the cells.

There it was another part of her revenge walking away from her.

They would’ve all paid, in blood, but it would’ve had to wait.

They waited in the alley for a few more minutes just to be sure no one was going back, but Margaery couldn’t wait anymore. She nodded to Vyrwel at her side and they crossed the street together, and eventually they reached the door.

Margaery took a deep breath. That was the time of reckoning, everything she’d worked for in the last few months was about to pay off or blow spectacularly in her face, and there was no room for any mistake.

She approached the door, now left imprudently unguarded, and knocked a few times on the splintered wood; one of the Sparrows came to open, and was a little bewildered seeing who his guest was.

“Your Grace,” he bowed his head a little, not the proper way to address his queen but now she couldn’t care less, “How can I help you?”

“You could be so kind to let me in,” she said in a soft voice the soldiers hadn’t even had the chance to hear once the previous day.

He stepped aside but was surprised to see the Tyrell’s soldiers following her.

“Why aren’t the King’s Guards with you?”

“You just said that yourself: I’m the queen, in such perilous times the King’s Guard must remain at the king’s side, they would be wasted on me.”

“But you’re still the queen,” he tried to retort.

“Indeed. But I face no danger here, am I mistaken?” she fluttered her eyelashes and the monk dropped the subject.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Your Grace? I’m afraid he High Sparrow’s just left.”

“What a pity. However he’s warned me yesterday of this possibility, so I think he’s already informed you of my desires.”

“Your desires?”

“I’ve expressed my desire to see my brother to the High Septon, and he’s agreed to the meeting. Would you mind escorting me to see him?”

“I’m not aware of the presence of your bother here, Your Grace. Or of the existence of any, frankly.”

For the second time in two days she felt the urge of gouge the eyes out of a man wearing a grey robe, but she resisted it.

“I discussed this matter at length with the High Sparrow just yesterday, and he agreed to let me see… Brother Loras,” she almost choked on the words.

“I should ask him myself, Your Grace, I…”

She was about to remind he was worth nothing more than the dirt under her shoes and that he would’ve been ripped to pieces if only she cared to snap her finger, but the appearance of another monk prevented her from doing something so reckless.

“Your Grace,” the man greeted her, “I gather you’re here to see Brother Loras.”

“Indeed,” she nodded tightly.

“If you don’t mind following me,” his arm swept in the direction of the dark corridor in front of them and they all moved together, queen and soldiers, ready to put their plan into action.

“Actually, Your Grace, I don’t think fit the presence of…”

She interrupted him with the wave of a hand, “There’s no need for their presence, you’re right,” she turned to face her men, who were trying to communicate with their eyes  their reticence to follow that divergence from the plan. They had decided she would’ve been alone in Loras’s cell to explain to him the delay in his release, but they would’ve waited outside the door to be sure nothing bad happened to them while they were still inside the Sept.

“You can wait for me here. Feel free to confess your sins to the solicitous Sparrows, I don’t want to waste your time entirely during my staying and I feel you could all benefit from their pious words.”

She didn’t wait for them to agree, to point out that her plan was the epitome of recklessness and stupidity, she simply followed the monk. She knew it was dangerous, and yet the temptation of finally being reunited with her brother was too strong to resist it.

“The High Sparrow shared with me the jolly reason of this meeting.” The Sparrow tried to open a discussion to avoid the discomfort of a silent walk, but Margaery’s attention was diverted from his words since she was trying to subtly mark the corners they were turning with a small piece of chalk. The night before they had foreshadowed the possibility of a changing of location, so they came prepared; it was Willam Withers who’d suggested this chance, the same man who’d come up with the idea of the fires. The Sparrows knew Margaery was aware of the location of Loras’s cell, so they would’ve probably provided to switch that for another one, already preparing for their retaliation. The soldier had been right.

“Well…” she tried to buy some time pretending to blush and look down.

“And please allow me to express my joy at this news, Your Grace,” he stopped for a moment and Margaery made the chalk disappear up her sleeve, but he was only looking for eye-contact, “I’m a follower of the Seven, but I’m also a loyal subject of the Crown, so I’m very glad to be one of the few to have a foretaste of this happy event.”

“You must know about my promise too, then.”

He took the hint and finally led her to the end of the corridor. There was a door, closed, but not locked as she could witness when the Sparrow simply opened it pushing it with his hand.

He must’ve said something, of course, but she didn’t listen. She _couldn’t_ listen.

Her whole attention was focused on the heap of rugs in the corner that was supposed to be her brother.


	2. Chapter 2

“Loras?” she whispered at the figure emerging from the penumbra like a handful of dust whipped up by the wind.

He peeked under his arms that were trying to shield the most part of his body, but that did nothing to hide the blood still on his forehead.

“Loras, it’s me,” she tried to avoid it, but she couldn’t help it. She ran at his side, crouching on the dirty floor in front of him.

“M…Margaery?”

He didn’t call her sister.

“Yes, it’s me,” she reached out to touch him, to hug him, but he crawled back, scared at the mere hint of touching.

She ignored that.

“I’m getting you out,” she whispered at his ear as she managed to drape her arms around his body.

“What?”

Margaery turned to see the Sparrow’s reaction at her brother’s too loud word, but the man must have took that as a sign of surprise for the news of the baby, so she went along with that.

“I know, it’s all very sudden and unexpected, but that’s how things are,” she smiled at him, fighting back the tears naturally forming in her eyes seeing the state of Loras’s face when he looked up at her and past her, at the threatening figure of the Sparrow.

“Why don’t you get up? We can walk and talk a little,” she got up and basically dragged him on his feet. It was already hard to balance him like that, with him leaning against the wall, she didn’t even want to imagine how it would’ve been to reach the horses that were ten miles away.

“Your Grace, I’m afraid to contradict you, but you really shouldn’t leave this place.”

“We’re obviously not going far,” she couldn’t erase a hint of harshness in her voice, and the monk had the decency to look away.

“Come.” Margaery tried to covey a certain softness in the word, but that wasn’t easy under those circumstances.

“Actually, Your Grace, you really shouldn’t…”

“This place’s not healthy for me,” she put her hand on her stomach, looking around at the filthy cell where it was almost impossible to breathe right or to even see something for how dark it was.  Restraining from screaming at the men was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

“Well, in this case… But stay inside the building,” he granted. The new addition to their ranks wasn’t actually in the right state to escape, and there was no need to endanger the royal baby.

“That’s really kind of you,” she passed her left arm around Loras’s back and grabbed his right hand, leading him toward the door. As soon as she realised the Sparrow wasn’t following them anymore and had returned to his duties she picked up her pace and hurried up down the corridor as much as Loras allowed her.

“What…where…?”

“I told you. I’m getting you out of here now,” she stated trying to make him move faster, but he was already faltering.

“But you…”

“I know, it looks like we’ve abandoned you, but that was the plan. It had to look like we’d turned our backs on you.”

“Plan?” he didn’t even sound upset or surprised. He simple sounded… _tired_. Almost uncaring, as if the matter didn’t concern him at all.

“Yes, there was a plan. And it backfired spectacularly. You got caught in the middle, but there’s no time for this now,” she grabbed his wrist with her left hand and started to run.

She didn’t care if he couldn’t keep up with her, she would’ve dragged him. And that was what she was doing: dragging him, pulling at his arm while following back the path she’d traced with the chalk.

They had to leave that place as soon as they could, there was no room for explanation or care; she knew Loras was suffering, that every step was torture to him, but leaving him in there would’ve been way worse.

They almost made it to the first corridor, to the door, when they saw a Sparrow turn the corner; he wasn’t still looking in their direction but it was a matter of seconds. Margaery turned around, desperate to find any sort of concealment, and she couldn’t believe it when she spotted a dark passage just a few steps at her right.

She yanked Loras to force him to follow her, but he looked petrified in the middle of the hallway. There was no way to make him move, and when a hand popped out of the passage to tug her away she had to let go of him.

“It’s us,” whispered a voice at her ear, and she recognised Willam’s voice.

“I have to…”

“Not now,” he held her back and she was forced to watch silently as the Sparrow approached. Loras was shaking, alone in the middle of the corridor, abandoned once again by his sister.

“Look what the cat dragged in. What are you doing here?” the monk barked, and Loras stiffened, “You know you can’t stay here,” he passed the little passage Margaery was hiding into with a couple of her men; she could see now that some of them were peering at the scene from an opposite hallway, but she had no idea if the rest of them was in the same passage or scattered somewhere else.

“I thought you knew better than contradicting me,” the Sparrow was now towering over Loras, making him look even more shrunken that he already was. Suddenly the man seemed to realise that Loras’s presence could be the sign of something else, so his voice changed from the snarl it had been until that moment, “Look at me. I said look at me,” he wasn’t shouting, but his tone was so harsh that Loras was forced to obey; Margaery could recognise one of his gaoler in that man, or he wouldn’t have behaved in such a way.

“Tell me what you’re doing here and I can consider avoiding any retaliation for this disobedience.”

Loras eyes darted past his shoulder just to meet Margaery’s pleading ones.

He remained silent.

“I’ll repeat it just once: what are you doing here?”

The queen exchanged a look with her soldiers: they were all holding their breath waiting for the possible outcome.

“I… Nothing,” Loras stuttered, looking down.

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I… I… was doing nothing.”

“Is this your final answer?”

Loras nodded, unable to speak anymore.

“So you're here, doing nothing, and yet you know it's forbidden to you.”

Loras remained silent.

“What’re you hiding, uh? I thought you’d learnt your lesson a while ago, but apparently I was wrong. Should I refresh your memory?” The Sparrow grabbed Loras’s chin, making him shrink back.

“One final chance to tell me what you're doing out of your cell, you filthy sinner.”

There was silence in the hallway, except for the thundering noise in Margaery's ears.

“I'll have to assume you're disobeying me then. Not only leaving your cell, you bloody foul, but you're also refusing to answer me. Maybe I should call the others to help teach you the lesson you seem to not have learned,” his grip moved from Loras’s chin to his throat.

“Please, not again,” was the panicked whisper that came out from Loras’s mouth.

Margaery physically felt the blood streaming away from her face, leaving it deadly pale.

“Why not? I thought you enjoyed that.”

She couldn't see it, but Margaery could feel the sneer on the man’s face.

“I'll call them and they'll help me teach you how to behave. Maybe they'll help me until you learn what's your place now.”

The expression on Loras’s face was something Margaery had never seen before. Not when the High Sparrow had allowed her to visit him, not at the trial when he was repeating that parody of a confession by heart, not even when a bigoted symbol was being carved on his forehead, not even when he'd risked to drown years ago trying to prove he was better than anyone else at swimming, just to be fished out of the water within an inch of his life; it was something completely different, terror in its primal form, pleading in his eyes.

She could feel the soldiers tensing behind her, ready to do something and at the same time unsure about what to do. It wasn't their place to decide the next move, and at the same time they couldn't stand idly by while their lord, their _friend_ , was being treated in such a way.

Yet she could do nothing.

She was petrified where she was, her teeth grinding, her expression unreadable for the soldiers on the opposite side of the corridor.

Only her hand moved, travelling down her dress.

“Why are you making that face?” the Sparrow’s hand moved again to Loras’s chin, the movement a foul mockery, “You don't like it from us? Aren't we good enough for you?” he stepped closer, almost closing the gap between them, his voice more threatening than ever, “You only like it from traitors?”

That was the final straw.

Margaery leapt forward, her little dagger ripped from its sheath. She was in the hallway before anyone could realise that, before anyone could even think of stopping her. The dagger was in her hand, her fingers firmly around the hilt.

 

_“Could you kill something?”_

_“I don't know, Your Grace. Do you think I could?”_

_“Yes.”_

She leapt forward and her dagger sank in the Sparrow’s kidneys. He didn't even had the time to scream that she was tearing him away from her brother, kicking him in the crotch with her leg, and when the men fell on his knees she started sticking the dagger in his face, in his eyes, in his mouth, in any place she could find, as long as the bastard suffered.

She kept hitting him, unable to stop, blood squirting on her dress, and all she could think about was the beautiful sound of that man’s agonising gasps.

He was trying to breath, to scream his pain, but she must have hit the back of his throat with the tip of the dagger or severed his tongue from his mouth, because he could do nothing but choke on his own blood.

Something rang in her head, reminding her she couldn't just keep stabbing that man, so she turned around and grabbed Loras again by the wrist, sprinting toward the door under her brother's shocked stare.

“Go!” Was the shout coming from their soldiers, and in a matter of seconds they were all running toward the door, some of them helping Loras to the tune of “”C’mon my lord, it's us!”

Someone ripped the door open and they all bolted out, turning into the first alley possible as someone made sure to bar the door to prevent the Sparrows from following them.

Margaery, bloodied dagger still in hand, pushed Loras against a wall and started cutting off the filthy robe he was wearing, passing it to someone as another soldier provided to make him wear other clothes; she helped him with his shoes, and as someone helped Loras wear them she started slashing her own dress, revealing the brown one she was wearing under her queenly clothes.

At least this one wasn't covered in blood.

She secured the dagger at the belt, not even cleaning it before relocating it into its sheath, then she grabbed Loras’s hand and started moving.

“What… what are you doing?” He asked, squinting in the sunlight.

“I told you. I'm taking you home,” she slid into the mob crowding the streets, hoping no one would've noticed her blood covered hands. She eyed their soldiers, who tried to follow them blending in the crowd. They had abandoned their green capes revealing ordinary clothes under them; what they didn't reveal were the weapons concealed in the folds.

“No, I… I can't.”

“Don't be daft, of course you can come home.”

“No, I don't belong there anymore. I… don't belong with you anymore.”

She turned around, looking him straight in the eyes while still walking, “I'm not hearing anymore of this nonsense. You are coming home. Now.”

“No no no, it'll be worse if they find us, we can't…”

“If they manage to put their hands on us we're doomed. Both of us. They will execute me, Loras, do you understand? Is that what you want for me?”

He shook his head no.

“Then move, for gods’ sake.”

“You run. Leave me. Leave me here.”

“I'm not leaving without you. Now that's up to you,” she stopped in the middle of the street, but no one seemed to mind; except for their soldiers, who froze, unaware of the contents of the conversation.

“You decide. We stay and we both die, or we follow my new plan and hope to get out of here. Do you really want me to die, Loras?”

She had just the time to finish the sentence that bells started ringing. It was the alarm, much sooner than what they'd expected.

Loras looked her in the eyes, those eyes that were the replica of his own, and it was all it took him to decide. He grasped his sister’s hand more firmly and started in the direction Margaery was following before.

He knew she wasn't saying that lightly, he could read that kind of determination in her eyes that had often put them into trouble when they were children. He wasn't that sure of her words, words he'd barely heard in his dazed state, but the sentiment conveyed by her eyes was unmistakable. She would've really died rather than leave him behind, and he couldn't tolerate the idea of the Sparrows doing Margaery the same things they'd done to him.

Margaery smiled briefly, then she started running.

As people started looking around to understand what was the reason of the ringing of the Sept’s bell another bell made its voice be heard; an obnoxious sound, a sound every citizen of King’s Landing knew very well and dreaded terribly.

A sound that meant fire.

“Ignore it, Loras, it's part of the plan,” Margaery explained, her mouth already close to his ear since she'd leant in to support him in the now halting crowd. She kept pushing him forward, helping him to limp in the middle of the swarm, “Keep your eyes down,” she secured the hood so that it wouldn't slip revealing the forming scar on Loras’s forehead, “And move faster, we have to take advantage of this moment of chaos, they'll soon remember what the other bell was for.”

It was working, actually.

As soon as they'd heard the alarm all the people in the street had started moving frantically, scattering in the alleys, running to and fro trying to gather a piece of information from the other passers-by. No one was paying much attention to those two hooded figures hurrying down the street, completely ignoring everyone around them.

“C’mon, honey, please,” Margaery intended to go as far as she could when the people surrounding them were distracted, and she had no time to respect Loras’s pain. People were already starting to question why there had been two different bells ringing, and very little time would've passed before some of the Sparrows would've come for them.

She knew very well that every single moment was vital to them, that they couldn't spare an instant to let Loras catch his breath.

They were midway on the street when they heard the second fire bell ringing in the whole city, sending new waves of panic through the crowd; that was the sign that already too much time had passed, and it was just a matter of seconds before the Sparrows would've found them.

“Hurry up, there's no time.”

“I can't…”

“You very well can, and you must.”

“No, I…”

“I've no time for your whining. We must be out of the city in a handful of minutes, and I couldn't care less if you feel you should rest a bit. Move,” she knew she was being harsh and that Loras deserved to be treated way better by his sister, but if she were to get them both out of there alive she couldn't take care of that too.

She sprinted down the road, clasping Loras’s hand in hers, shoving people out of their way; she was basically dragging Loras with her, feeling him stumble behind her. She was about to consider a halt when she was forced to stop.

A group of the faith militant, about ten men, was coming in their direction.

She quickly pushed Loras against a wall, retreating behind a curtain made of human bodies, but they still had to move. The presence of the Sparrows would've rose questions, and they were way too recognisable; maybe not Loras, not with his hair cut and his face so thin Margaery could see his bones under his skin, but her disguise wouldn't have done much to someone who cared to look a little more closely.

“Go,” he whispered to her ear.

“Where?”

“Run. They… they'll stay for me.”

For how much it cost her to avert her eyes from the upcoming threat she turned around to face him, “Together. We leave together.”

“No, save yourself.”

She turned again to monitor the monks’ coming, using her own body to press him even more against the red bricks and to shield him, feeling his body shiver at the prospect of what he'd just suggested, “I'll only leave with you.”

They were about to see them.

The passers-by didn't know what to look for so they still hadn't recognised the Tyrell siblings, but those men knew exactly that Loras had escaped helped by Margaery, and just a quick glance would've revealed them. One of the soldiers had left their clothes next to the Red Keep, that was true, but if they were to see them in the middle of the street there was no trick that could've possibly worked.

Yet there was nowhere they could hide.

The crowd had separated them from the few soldiers who'd stayed behind with them instead of rushing light the fires, so there was no one who would've come to their aid. It was just the two of them now.

Instinctively Margaery reached for her dagger.

They were closer and closer, their only hope was to mingle in the crowd. So Margaery started slithering against the wall, pushing Loras forward to be sure his face remained hidden, but when she heard the voice of one of the monks she froze.

“Good people of King’s Landing! I know this is not the right moment to ask you a favour, but we promise we'll help you with these unfathomable fires and with the reconstruction after them. We need your help to find the queen and her brother, who seem to have lost their way back to the Sept. We know you are true followers of the Seven, and the High Sparrow offers a great prize to those who'll help him found his lost sheep.”

Margaery looked around, desperate. She had to think quickly, to find a loophole or something to get them out of that situation, but she couldn't come up with anything.

They would've been captured, tortured and killed at the hands of that scum.

She couldn't allow that. Not when she'd promised Loras his freedom. She could feel him pondering the idea of launching himself toward the Sparrows to grant her a chance of escaping.

She was about to scream when she felt someone grabbing her wrist.

“Come with me. Lord Baelish sends me.”

Margaery rose panicked eyes to a woman, clearly a prostitute, coming out of an alley just on her left. She'd been so focused on keeping track of the Sparrows’ movements she hadn't even noticed it.

“Come now. Lord Baelish offers his help. There's no time.”

She didn't need to hear that twice.

With her hand still firmly clasped around Loras’s wrist she let the prostitute drag her into the dark alley, then the woman started running in the middle of the diminishing crowd, and so did Margaery.

Loras was right behind her, trying to stifle the protests of his body.

Margaery knew that move was daring, but nothing could've been worse that lingering where they were just seconds before, not even trusting Littlefinger. That could've easily been a trap, but it still didn't seem a worse scenario.

They kept moving in dark passages, narrow streets that had never known what a ray of sunshine was, but at least the people in them were too hungry to question who they were. Usually someone running in that maze of huts meant stealing, and stealing meant a chance of food being shared, so they were all used to stay out of the way to allow their comrades to escape the bright main roads.

“We have to go to the…”

“The Mud Gate, I know,” the woman cut her off turning slightly around, “It won't be long now,” a look of sympathy appeared on her face.

She wasn't lying. After a few more turns in that maze they reconnected with the end of the Kingsroad, the Mud Gate just across the square.

“Go now,” the woman had to push Margaery out of the shadow. She knew what she had to do, but now she was reluctant to abandon the protection that the alley provided.

“Stay with me now. For any reason don't let go of my hand,” she quickly kissed Loras on the cheek to convince him, then without waiting for any protest she tugged him along into the main street.

After the dim light of the alleys the main road seemed way too bright.

“Don’t look around too much and keep your head down,” Margaery reminded her brother once more, but there was no need for that. Loras was already looking down, as if he couldn’t find the strength to raise his chin a bit.

She would’ve dealt with that later.

Margaery slid once again in the crowd, looking around for possible signs of the Sparrows, but apparently they’d remained where they’d left them, still asking people about their whereabouts. Margaery knew that wasn’t the safest thing to do, not with the possibility of someone having heard the Sparrows’ tirade in the nearby, but that was the plan; she looked up, searching the rotting roofs with her eyes.

The hint of a green cape, that was all she was praying for. They’d decided to have the last checkpoint on higher ground, so the soldiers appointed for the task would’ve used Loras and Margaery themselves as signals.

As soon as they would’ve spotted them in the mid of the crowd they would’ve lit the last fire, providing them the chance to escape.

People were still screaming for the other fires, but Margaery couldn’t hear them.

She kept looking at the clouding sky, hoping to help their soldiers recognise them; maybe she couldn’t see them from that sea of human bodies, but they had a better shot at finding them if they could recognise her face.

The square was getting closer and closer, way too close for her taste since they had no diversion yet, but she certainly couldn’t just turn around and run in the opposite direction, right into the Sparrows arms.

Something finally caught her attention. It was just a sparkle out of the corner of her eye, but that was enough; she abruptly turned her head in that direction, recognising the Tyrell’s green.

In a matter of seconds people were screaming again.

Fire spread quickly, devouring the fuel that had been poured on the ground during the night, destroying everything and using everyone who was caught in its way as a tool to reach even more people, to claim more victims.

The square in front of the Mud Gate was turning into a living hell.

The market booths, all of them made of old wood, turned into torches in just a few seconds, the merchants behind them in fire spectres only a heartbeat later.

Margaery started running.

She could feel her nails sinking in Loras’s flesh, drawing blood even, but she wouldn’t have loosened her grip for her life. She tried to contrast the crowd pushing, panicking, kicking and punching to get away from that burning nightmare, but when the bell started ringing for the fourth time in a handful of minutes she must face the reality that she wasn’t in control of their movements anymore.

She couldn’t decide the direction anymore, she could only let the crow drag them along trying to keep up with it; in any case, they were all heading to the only opening presenting in front of them.

There weren’t soldiers guarding the gate anymore, some of them gone into the fields as the people intended, some, definitely fewer, disappeared in the square in the futile attempt of subduing the flames.

That was exactly what they’d wanted.

No one was looking at the people next to them, they wouldn’t have cared if a dragon had landed at their back as long as they were still able to escape certain death.

No one cared about the escape of the Tyrell siblings.

Margaery kept feeling elbows sinking in her ribs, legs kicking her, feet crushing hers, people suffocating her, and she couldn’t even imagine how painful that was to Loras, with his body bruised and battered.

She couldn’t dwell on the thought, though, not if she wanted to survive the mob.

It would’ve been rather down turning to be able to evade from the Sept, disappear into the streets and almost destroy the city only to die trampled underfoot.

The gate was closer now for what she could see over the heads of the people in front of her, but she had no way to know if someone was following them. She could only hope they weren’t.

She could get a glimpse of the road appearing in front of her, but people around her were almost swamping her, and the possibility of suffocating under the feet of dozens of people was becoming more real with each passing  second. She managed to turn her head around and catch Loras’s eyes.

He was trying not to succumb to panic, to follow her and to keep steady in the screaming waves of human bodies crushing him, but he was about to lose it. He would’ve have hadn’t Margaery turned to look at him.

As soon as he met his sister’s eyes he tightened his grip, letting her know he would’ve been by her side, even if that meant being crushed by the crowd.

There was no way to use words to communicate, but their eyes were enough.

It wasn’t only the gate to be getting closer, but fire too. Margaery could feel the growing heat behind her, and so did everyone else, and the door was so small…

There was no way of breathing now, not with all that people pressing against them, not with the smoke polluting the air and making everyone cough in the falling ashes.

Margaery opened her mouth, her face turned to the sky, her chest convulsing for the lack of air; she couldn’t feel her right arm anymore, and with that the hand which was keeping Loras with her. She fought with all her remaining strength, sacrificing what little air remained in her lungs to the last chance of freedom.

She could feel tears of pain running down her ash stained cheeks, the way they almost felt cold in the burning heat surrounding her, and then suddenly there was an open space in front of her.

They had passed the Mud Gate.

The plan had worked.

They were out of the city.

She didn’t allow wonder cloud her judgment and she yanked Loras forward and out of the way. Once she was sure no one would’ve stepped on them in the attempt of escaping she collapsed in the mud with her brother.

Margaery was on her hands and knees trying to catch her breath, but Loras didn’t even seem to have the strength for that; he’d just keeled over, lying on his stomach in the mud.

“Loras, there’s no time,” Margaery sputtered, “We need to move. We can’t stay here.”

“I can’t move.”

“We made it through that hell now you’re going to get back on your feet,” she sat up and clasped his hand in hers.

“No…”

“Please, Loras. Just get up.”

“I’m not strong enough. I … I told you.”

“That’s not true and you know it. We made it through the gate and through that mob, we can’t give up now.”

“Just … let me rest just a bit.”

“We have to go, there’s no time to rest.”

Loras wasn’t listening though, he’d closed his eyes.

“We have to go home,” Margaery was almost begging him now. There was despair in her voice, every moment they spent there was a moment of advantage so hardly gained wasted, “We have to go home, Loras,” she tugged his arm, forced him to roll over on his side, and when he winced in pain she hauled him up, passing his arm around her shoulders, “C’mon.”

“I’ll just slow you down.”

“I told you: if you stay I stay. So since I’m not moving alone there’s no way I’ll be slower with you,” she stumbled to get up, slipping in the mud under her brother’s weight, but with some help from Loras they managed to gain an upright position.

They started limping in the sludge heading toward the river when she saw them.

The unmistakable robes of the faith militant, the clinking of their chains almost deafening to her ears even though they were but a particle of the articulated noise of the people screaming in pain and fear, but they were everything to her.

“Loras. They are here.”

He turned around slightly, for what his bruised body allowed him, and he immediately started shivering. He looked at her in despair, questioning her with his eyes about what to do now.

“Move.”

They started limping faster, mingling once again in the crowd.

For how much the situation scared her Margaery didn’t feel the same breathtaking fear she’d experienced when they’d run into the Sparrows earlier. With their faces covered in mud and ashes no one would ever have recognised them as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the firstborn son of the Lord of Highgarden.

Yet there was no need to assume a foolish risk.

She headed to Blackwater Rush with everyone else, all of them knowing that if fire were to spread to the fields outside the city is was a better idea to be wet and on the other side of a river.

There was nothing to say, they only had to walk.

Loras opened his mouth again when they reached the river bank.

“I can’t cross it.”

“Of course you can, the water is not deep. And thank to you and Renly so can I.”

Loras started hearing the name, yet he said nothing, but he didn’t protest either when water touched his feet.

The water was freezing cold after the heat of the burning city, but there was no time to get used to it.

Margaery stopped only for a second at the bite of the icy stream, but she quickly stepped into it before someone started paying attention to them.

She supported Loras in the water, trudging against the stream until water reached their waists; from then on they were forced to separate, each of them on their own devices since continuing to stay close would’ve meant an almost impossible degree of difficulty.

That sensation, water against her legs, wasn’t foreign to her, and yet it seemed so distant. A long time had passed since the last time she’d had a chance to swim. She still recalled those joyous summer days at Storm’s End, when she used to dive into the sea at any given moment. Loras had already been staying there for a couple years now when she’d been allowed to visit him and spend a few months at the Baratheon’s stronghold; officially she’d been sent there to be presented to the nobility by the King’s brother himself, in reality she was there because she and Loras missed each other so much it was unbearable to see them parted.

Margaery considered that time like the happiest of her life.

She’d been hesitant at first, fully aware of her inexperience compared to Loras – let alone Renly who’d spent his entire life into the natural pools of seawater of Storm’s End – so she’d preferred to stay on the shore, enjoying the feeling on warm sand on her bare feet. It had been Renly who’d encouraged her to give it a shot, promising her he wouldn’t have let her drown. Loras had sarcastically snorted at that.

It wasn’t like Margaery had never tried to swim before, but it was different in HIghgarden: there were canals over there, still water where no hidden dangers were to be expected. Maybe it was the idea of salty water that startled her, but after the first few moments of hesitation she’d got rid of her dress and with only her petticoat on she’d started swimming with the boys. Only where she could feel sand under her feet if she were to stretch her legs for the first few days, but after that she could swim pretty decently. She was no match for Renly for sure, but not even Loras was, so she was happy with herself.

It was bittersweet how that skill was coming in handy now.

It was almost like a part of Renly was still there with them, helping them escape, and at the same time it was hard to reconcile those fond childhood memories with the screaming, the pain and the unbearable situation they were facing now.

Margaery was lost in those thoughts when her foot slipped on a round rock sunken in the riverbed, but before the water could wash her away separating her from her brother something caught her by the arm; she looked up to see a man, an unknown man escaped by the fire just like them, who’d been quick enough to catch her before she fell underwater.

She saw something else too.

She saw reckoning.

That man had looked her in the eyes and had recognized her.

He was now gaping at her, suddenly releasing his queen as if he was aware he had no right to touch her majesty, and there was shock in his eyes. He’d probably heard the speech of the Sparrows and the tolling of the bell of the Sept of Baelor, and here was his queen, the fugitive.

The man’s eyes diverted from her just to land on Loras, who’d moved forward to try preventing Margaery from falling and was now by her side, and returned to her.

“Please,” was all Margaery could mutter.

The man looked at the both of them for what seemed hours. They were almost unrecognisable: the magnificent queen and her valiant brother who had once adorned the rooms of the Red Keep like prized jewels were now covered in mud, ashes, and blood. Queen Margery could still be glimpsed under that layer of dirt, but he would’ve never been able to recognise Ser Loras without her by his side. There was nothing of the proud gallant young man who used to triumph in jousts and had had a major role in the defence of King’s Landing in that hollowed figure; he looked disfigured, not only for the horrible cut on his forehead, but it was like something was broken inside him.

Those two had nothing to do with the royal siblings who’d once entered the city with much fanfare, they were only brother and sister fighting for their lives like anyone of them. They looked like startled fawns who were trying to escape into the woods to hide from hunters.

“Go,” he nodded, turning around not to draw further attention on them.

Margaery let out a sigh of relief and grabbed once again Loras’ hand

She leapt forward so quickly she almost dived into the stream, water now reaching her armpits. She’d thought them safe, not completely but not so exposed, and now she had to face the fact that anyone could recognise them. Her disguise was so poorly made it had worked as long as someone wasn’t looking at them. The first person who’d cared to look a little closer had promptly recognised them for who they were, and they had only been lucky to find a good hearted watcher.

They were swimming now, trying to contrast the strength of the stream pushing them toward the sea and much more perilous waters, and the opposite bank was getting closer and closer; they soon managed to feel something solid beneath their feet, and that meant they had passed the first half of the river. When they emerged from the water Margaery grabbed once again Loras’s arm, passing it around her shoulders to support him and to prevent him from stopping.

“I need your help now,” she said when water still reached their knees, “There is a path here, I don’t know where but I remember you talking about it.”

Loras was panting, not really paying attention to her words.

“A hunting path, Loras. You know it well. I need to know where it starts.”

They got out the river and shook off a little water while they were still slipping in the mud.

“I know we have to go north for a bit, but I’ve no idea where the trail starts. Loras,” she called him again, this time more firmly, “I relied on you for the plan to work. I told our men you would’ve been able to lead me in the right direction, so don’t you dare let me down. And don’t pass out on me,” she exclaimed noticing his eyes starting to close.

“I can’t, please…”

“You can rest a bit as soon as we are sheltered by the trees, not here in the open. We are too exposed.”

Loras was trying to listen to her, he was really trying hard to be helpful, to not be a burden for his sister, but doing all those things together was almost impossible: listening to Margaery, keeping his legs steady and an arm around his sister’s waist, ignoring the pain in his body, keeping his eyes open… it was too much for him right now. The last hour had overwhelmed his senses with all the light, the noise, the space allowed to him; he wasn’t used to that anymore.

“You used to go there with Renly,” that was her last resource, but it worked again. Renly’s name did the trick once more, catching Loras’s attention.

When Margaery saw her brother’s eyes opening a little wider she went on talking, hoping to keep him with her long enough to know what she needed.

“You told me that, remember? You used to go hunting somewhere in the nearby in the rare occasions you managed to get Renly out of the Keep. He always complained about that, but he did that with that small laugh of his on his lips; I think he secretly enjoyed that, being in the woods with you while you had fun riding and frolicking,” she said softly, “You told me sometimes you still came here on your own, just to have a taste of what had been. You must remember where the path begins then. You have to lead me there, for I don’t know where to start searching. Help me, Loras.”

Loras found the strength to snort, “Help you.”

“What?”

“You don’t need anyone’s help,” he paused to breathe, “Let alone mine.”

“Underestimate yourself as much as you want, but I need you to point me the right way. The meeting point is down that hunting path, so if you want to stop walking and rest you have to focus and help me.”

“Fine,” he uttered, gathering every remaining strength to find the right direction. It was hard to focus, it was like his brain was on fire, “This way, I think.”

The actually headed north, distancing the remaining crowd now scattered on the whole river bank, when something made all of them turn around and freeze.

It was like a thunder, the sound of a thousand buildings collapsing on each other, and suddenly the three fires were swallowed by a green light so bright to outshine the sun itself.

In a heartbeat part of the city was gone.

They had just the time to start screaming that the shockwave toppled them over, sending them to land in the mud once more.

The two siblings looked at each other, but they couldn’t find an answer in the other’s face.

There was no need to talk now. They scrambled back on their feet and started running again in the screaming crowd that was now moving again; some of the people on the river bank hadn’t moved, only capable of staring at that monstrous inferno that used to be the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, some others had started running again to find shelter into the woods. They had no idea what that was, and they wanted to get as much away as possible from the unknown.

That was the same thought spurring Loras and Margaery to sprint toward the trees.

Even Loras was running as fast as he could, as if he felt no pain whatsoever. He had no idea what that was, all he knew was that that _thing_ had been in the same place where they were up to an hour before. The realisation of the danger they had unknowingly faced was enough to make him run as he did before being locked up in the cells.

They ran and ran, thankful for the open space the river bank provided them, until Loras swerved left bringing his sister with him; that was the beginning of the path they were looking for, but that didn’t stop them. They raced down the trail immersing into the wood until there was no sight of the city anymore, but they dared to stop only when screams ceased to reach their ears.

“What the hell was that?” Loras uttered collapsing against a tree trunk.

“I’ve no idea,” Margaery answered, sitting on the ground next to him. There was no point in forcing Loras to move after that sprint, he wouldn’t have managed even if he wanted to.

“I almost kept you in there…” Loras whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“All that time… to convince me to follow you… you almost got caught in… _that_. All because of me. Again.”

“Nonsense,” she hugged him, making him shift and lean his head on her shoulder, “You couldn’t know. None of us could. We don’t even know what that is.”

“It would’ve killed you nonetheless.”

“It would’ve killed you too.”

He huffed in his sister’s arms, as if disregarding the importance of such an event.

Margaery decided to overlook her brother’s attitude for the moment, “We can’t stay here long, we don’t know whether someone is following us or not, and I sincerely don’t want to find out.”

“Please, just…”

“Rest a little more, I have to take care of a few things,” she caressed his cheek before moving away from him.

She drew the dagger from her belt and started slashing the inferior part of her dress, throwing away the dirty part and rolling up what was left of her torn skirt; in the stamped that had engulfed them or in the run in the trees the wound on Loras’s forehead had reopened, and he was bleeding again even though he didn’t seem to notice. When she wrapped the fabric around his head she realised why: he was feverish.

There was not much she could still do for him now, not in the middle of a forest with no water and no herbs at her disposal; all she could do for her brother was help him get back on his feet and go meet their army.

“Loras, we have to go,” she kissed his cheek, smearing the tip of her nose with the blood running down her brother's, “I know it's hard, I'm not denying that, but we have no other choice. We have to go home.”

Loras’s eyes were closed, his head reclined against the tree. Margaery wondered if he'd passed out while she was talking, but then he nodded slightly.

“Just help me,” he whispered.

“Of course,” she hugged him again, holding him closer.

“I need something… to walk.”

“Don't worry, I'll figure out something,” she got up, ignoring the pain in her ribs and in her legs. She had to find a sort of aid, anything would've done, so after a few minutes of searching she found the fallen branch of a tree in the nearby, long enough to allow Loras to rest on it and sufficiently straight to serve as a walking stick.

“Here,” she brought it to him, helping him on his feet “This'll have to make do.”

Loras grunted, then they were on the move again.

They stumbled and faltered on the trail, following it and at the same time being so cautious to look past their shoulders every two minutes.

It was torture to Loras, and Margaery knew it very well, listening to him panting and huffing beside her, but there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. They could only walk and hope for the best: for their soldiers to find them, for no one to follow them.

That wasn't what she'd expected.

She'd been promised the life of a queen since she'd been old enough to understand what that meant, and now here she was, covered in mud, blood and bruises after escaping from her own city, from her own people.

They would've paid for that.

Kindness and sweetness hadn't worked. The very same people she'd fed and sheltered had turned their backs on her, staying away from her pain and suffering as if she meant nothing to them.

Well, she was done with that now.

The people had been happy with her, they'd cherished the refreshing change of a monarch caring about them, but they hadn't respected her.

They didn't fear her, so there was no true respect to be found in their hearts.

But they had underestimated her.

All of them had.

Her father, the High Sparrow. Cersei.

They had no idea what she was capable of.

But they would've found out soon enough.

She was lost in these thoughts when Loras abruptly stopped.

“What's wrong?”

He silenced her with a simple gesture, so she started listening.

She could hear it too, now.

Hooves on the dead leaves, voices. Something that shouldn't have been heard in the middle of a wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all for joining me in this adventure, I hope you're liking it so far.  
> Just a little side note: I know the Margaery I'm writing is a little different from the original one, but this is my interpretation of the character; after all she's been through I imagine a change in her, something that will make stronger, colder and, let's admit it, more prone to a touch of madness.  
> She's becoming a queen of her own, not the wife of a king.


	3. Chapter 3

  


It was probably too soon to be some of their soldiers, so the only possible option was that someone had been following them. The two siblings exchanged a quick and silent glance, looking around for somewhere to hide, and Loras seemed to remember something.

There was a cave on their left not that far. He knew it well, even if he didn't want to remember that at the moment. He tugged Margaery in that direction, prompting her to accept his lead just for once. The cave was exactly where he recalled it was, so he pushed Margaery inside before someone could spot them on the trail. He wasn't so sure to deserve his sister’s aid, but he couldn't allow anyone to touch her.

He would've died before seeing the Sparrows treating Margaery the same way he'd been treated.

He prepared the stick.

He would've protected his sister at all costs. That was the only thing the Sparrows hadn't taken from him: his love for his sister.

What Loras hadn't considered was that his sister had just unsheathed her dagger. As much as he was willing to die for her, so was she.

Margaery knew she wasn't a fighter, that anyone would've been able to overcome her, and yet she couldn't fight the instinct of drawing her blade; it was almost childish wielding a dagger like that, but she couldn't stand idly by while they were facing certain capture.

It simply wasn't for her.

And she would've died before allowing those scumbags to touch them again.

The horses were approaching, all they could do was be prepared, their last and only choice. Hooves were treading on dead leaves, closer and closer, so close the two siblings held each other fearing to be separated once again.

“Your Grace!” a voice called, “My Lord!”

Margaery and Loras looked at each other.

“My Lord!”

“Your Grace!”

“My Lord!”

“My Lord!”

“Your Grace!”

“My Lord!”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace!”

Several voices were calling them, in an undertone as not to be heard by unwanted listeners. No one was shouting them to yield, the voices didn't covey that impression.

Yet they couldn't be so sure.

“It's us.”

“We know this is not the meeting point, but we hurried up to come and get you.”

They had to take their chance. The soldiers had dismounted from the horses, but hadn't they found them in a couple of minutes they would've started searching somewhere else, abandoning them in the woods.

The two siblings nodded and ventured out of the cave.

Loras was leaning on Margaery in order to be able to hold up the stick to protect them both, and his sister was still clasping the bloodied dagger in her fingers.

That was how their soldiers found them: standing together, ready to fight.

They hurried in their direction, and before she could realise it those men were relieving her from Loras’s weight and a strong arm was sustaining her by the waist.

“You did it, your Grace,” a familiar voice said to her ear as she leant against the protection of that body, “You did it. You must be freezing now, though,” a green cape was draped around her shoulders, and she realised she was still soaking wet.

She started laughing a little maniacally amidst the trees, sobs mixed with laughs. Panic, fear, rage, despair, they were all coming to the surface, crashing against the enormous sense of relief that was flooding her.

She covered her mouth, but she couldn't stop, not even when she tasted still fresh blood on her lips.

Willam held her a little tighter, recognising the first hints of shock in that behaviour; they couldn't cope with both the siblings not in their right state of mind, and the one allowed to lose his mind was Ser Loras.

“Why don't you put down that dagger, Your Grace?” Willam motioned to grab her wrist, but she was quick enough to subtract the weapon from his grasp; she did put it back in its sheath indeed, but no one would've separated her from that blade.

“We have to go,” said one of the two soldiers who were supporting Loras, and Margaery nodded upon taking a look at her brother. His face was white but for the streak of blood leaking down the bridge of his nose. Someone had been so kind to drape a cape around his shoulders too.

“Yes. Of course,” she shook her head, as if to scroll away the feelings that had overwhelmed her for a few seconds, “We must move,” she hurried toward her brother to place a comforting hand on his cheek since she could see how uncomfortable he was being held up by those two strangers, then she nodded in the direction of the horses.

When they approached they were welcomed by a distressed whinnying. Margaery raised her eyes and saw it. Saw her.

A white mare, clodding to be reunited with her owner.

That mare.

The mare that had been a gift from Renly to Loras.

He looked at the horse too, an unbelieving stare at the animal he thought he would've never seen again.

“Your father thought it would've been a good idea,” Willam explained in a whisper.

“Damn good idea,” she whispered back, looking at Loras motioning toward the animal. The soldier who was keeping the mare by the reins had to let her go to her owner, and when she was finally reunited with him she whinnied quietly, pushing her nose against his shoulder.

It looked like she was welcoming him back, telling him to jump on her back and finally go home, but Loras wasn't petting her neck as he used to do; that was probably what made the horse realise something was wrong.

As Margaery approached the mare turned her head around a few times as if trying to understand what was happening, and when Margaery substituted one of the two soldiers who were holding Loras up she seemed to realise her help was needed too.

With no command whatsoever she fell on her front legs and crouched on the ground in front of her owner, whinnying quietly to invite him to saddle up.

The people witnessing looked at the scene bewildered, unable to believe real such behaviour from an animal toward its master, but here the horse was, showing them that that kind of connection was indeed possible.

“Come on, we need to go home,” Margaery broke the spell prompting Loras to get on the horse, so the soldiers started hurrying around to get hers too and mounting on their own steeds. She was the one helping him, the one to take the stick from his hand so that he could have been able to stay balanced on the horse.

She didn't accept anyone’s help when it was her turn to mount on her horse, and as soon as she was secured on her saddle she ordered them to move; there was no need for Loras to give a command to his mare, she simply followed the other animals, but that wasn't enough for Margaery, who'd ordered to tie a rope between their horses.

They would've been together, even if they still had to run in the middle of a wood.

Margaery spurred her horse, being the first of the column.

They had to go home.

She could see that an action that had been as simple to Loras as breathing was now torture to him, but she couldn't just wait for him to be ready to go home. She had to abandon the sisterly part of her, being a queen. A leader. That was what was needed in that moment. Not a loving sister, not a sweet young girl caring for her brother. They needed a queen who took decisions for them.

The soldiers would’ve probably stopped for them both, them being such a miserable show: Loras was hunched on the horse’s neck, only one shoe on, and she definitely wasn't in a better shape. Her dress was ripped to up to mid-tight, she had scratches and bruises on her legs, her hair was full of leaves and still wet from their crossing of the river, and there was blood still smearing her face. She probably had bruises on her cheeks too.

Still, they had no time.

She would've felt safe once they were at Highgarden, and not before.

“Margaery…”

“Yes?” she turned her head to the right.

“Can we… stop for a moment?”

“No, honey, I'm sorry. We'll stop once we've reached the army.”

Loras nodded painfully, knowing she was the one in charge, then he remained quiet on the horse. That was when Margaery started singing: she didn’t really feel like it, but that was a song in Valyrian she and Loras used to sing when they were children, and if Loras could focus on that old tune maybe he could've been distracted from his pain.

The song wasn't really difficult, it simply consisted in a stanza repeated on and on until the music stopped, with a small variation in the middle; what had made them pick it up when they were children was the fact that it was a duet requiring both male and female voices to alternate the chorus.

“[1] _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga,”_ she intoned, startling everyone around. None of the soldiers thought her in the mood for singing, “ _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga._ ”

Loras looked at her a little puzzled, trying to connect that familiar sound with something, anything, from his memories. The time spent in the cells seemed to have obliterated that spent as a free man.

“ _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga.”_

It dated back to a very long time ago, when they were still children being educated as princes. Making them learn High Valyrian had been their mother's whim, but since it was kind of cool knowing a language of their own that they could use to impress people around they had settled for learning it quietly enough.

“ _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga_ ,” Loras croaked, responding to the chorus intoned by his sister.

Their maester had taught them the song, in the hope of making them love the language a little more _._ The song was so simple indeed that even with no knowledge of the language whatsoever they'd been able to learn it by heart and to sing it when they were playing in the gardens. The trick had worked though, since now they could both speak effortlessly an almost perfect Valirian.

“ _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga_ ,” Margaery voice came out stronger this time, encouraged by her brother's participation; he wasn't singing as he used to, but she thought he wouldn't have even opened his mouth, so that was all like a gift to her.

“ _Sola gjekk i ringen, sumaren sende/ Hanar galar rismål for alvar i enga,_ ” Loras answered again as his sister vocalised in the background.

They kept on singing for a long while, crossing the wood and finally reconnecting with the main road; when they reached the open ground they fell silent, not wanting to draw attention on them even further.

“How long now?” Margaery asked Willam, who was riding by her side.

“Not much, You Grace. The army shouldn't have progressed much without you, I don't think your father was very eager to leave you behind.”

She nodded, looking at Loras who was doing his best not to fall from the horse. She was trying to figure out how they would've been able to reach Highgarden with Loras in such a state, but she was too tired to come up with a good idea. She could only focus on catching up with the army, from then on they would've been relatively safe, safe enough to allow her to rest for a bit and start again with a sharp mind for the task.

Yet she couldn't voice her thoughts.

She was their queen now, she was supposed to lead them and to know what was best for them all; giving the impression of being such had been one of the reasons that had managed to convince them to follow her in that almost suicidal mission.

She was good at pretending, she could do it a little longer.

There wasn't much to do for them but keeping themselves on the horses. The soldiers were looking around, Willam – still on the horse he had stolen in King’s Landing and had permitted him to be there with them –  had sent out two of them as sentinels and another one back on the street to make sure no one was following them. He had it all sorted, so Margaery was free to look at her brother, even though she tried not to consider how he was really feeling.

She wasn't strong enough for that, not now.

She knew how those cells were, suffocating, scaring, cold, dark holes where they left you to starve for days, and with what she'd gathered… she couldn't think about that, not now.

Had she been dwelling on the thought she would've started screaming, and she couldn't lose it, not yet.

When she had heard, still in the Sept, she had lost her mind and killed a man.

No, not a man.

A worm.

That creature was nothing but a worm.

What she found strange was that she could think about that pretty quietly. She could still hear the Sparrow’s agonising gasps in her head, she knew she still had his blood on her face, under her nails, but that wasn't upsetting her at all.

She could replay the scene in her mind feeling nothing, as if the matter concerned a third person.

And yet she realised she had killed that bastard.

Not that she regretted it, but the thought, not the memory, stirred something in her. It was something new for her, something she didn't even believe could reside inside her.

She'd had a taste of it the previous day, when she had taken for the first time in months the dagger in her hand, but what she had felt using it to stab the Sparrow to death…

It was like having fire running through your veins. It was a kind of pleasure she had never experienced before.

It wasn't the killing itself to have felt so pleasing, it was revenge.

Revenge at its finest.

Revenge in its primal form.

Not something subtle, served cold after years of planning. Brutal, primeval revenge served promptly in the form of warm spilling blood.

When she had intuited what Loras had been through killing had been her reaction.

She had kept quiet for too long, played mind games in the background; in that moment it was like someone had pulled a trigger, and she had realised that when you're pushed, killing is as easy as breathing.

She had let it go once and for all and now, as they were trying to go back home battered and bruised, she knew there was no way of going back.

Joffrey had been right in judging her. She'd thought it was just a facade what she had put up for him, but she could see now that she could understand him better than she believed; it wasn’t simply a gilded sentence spoke to please him,  severity was indeed the price to pay for greatness.

No more kind smiles, no more playing the naive girl.

She was a queen now, a queen who had to take care of those around her.

Starting from her brother.

She would’ve had to help him, not just to get home in what could still be considered one piece, but with the aftermath of the imprisonment. They both needed help on that front.

Margaery didn’t want to admit it, didn’t have the time actually, but her staying in the cells had spooked her beyond reasoning. She had been starved, beaten, humiliated and insulted. Everything important to her had been taunted and slandered, overthrown in front of her.

She would’ve never thought she would’ve ended up like that. She knew she would’ve married Renly, the winds of war had been there for years, and she was fine with that; maybe she wasn’t finding the passionate love described in the tales she used to read as a child, but she was marring a friend. It was a different kind of love, but love still. She had heard of far worse matches, being the wife of your brother’s lover wouldn’t have been that bad.

And she would’ve been the queen.

Besides, Renly would’ve never allowed them to end up in a cell.

He wasn’t a violent man, but he would’ve done anything for the Tyrell siblings, both of them.

Her latest husband had loved her, right, but he had been nothing but a puppet whose strings anyone could pull.

In that cell she had had time to think, when she wasn’t wondering whether Loras was still alive or not, time to think about how easily everything could fall apart.

The worst part of their imprisonment was that they wouldn’t have imagined such an outcome in a thousand years.

Loras had grown up with the idea of being the lord of Highgarden and the Protector of the South, Margaery of being the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; there was no way of picturing a future in a filthy cell covered in rags.

At her darkest moment, starved and sleep-deprived, she had been about to give up, to surrender to their wishes just to get out of there, just to escape the beatings and the shouting. She was crouched in the corner of her cell, legs drawn up to her body to keep her warm, when the Septa assigned to the task of reading to her a chapter of the Seven Pointed Star had started preaching about how people like her brother would’ve burnt in the deepest hells for eternity.

Something in her had clicked in that moment.

She had realized that letting them win would’ve meant getting out of there, but being forced to look behind her back for her whole life; she would’ve eliminated just the symptoms, not the disease.

The only way of getting out was letting them win, yes, but there was one thing she was good at.

Manipulating.

She had twisted around her little finger many men, it wouldn’t have been impossible to do it with another one.

She was conscious of the fact her techniques would’ve had to be different in the High Sparrow’s case, but not that much: it was all about pleasing him, the only part she would’ve had to change was the way in which she planned of doing so.

It had been hard to come up with her plan still in her cell, to focus when her head seemed about to split open for the lack of sleep and her body refused to move for the food deprivation, but it had been her only hope.

Her plan, or going mad.

She now realized that one didn’t automatically exclude the other.

That was the part she preferred to focus on; how she had managed to get out, not what she had felt before. She couldn’t face the feel of betrayal, disappointment and utter fear, not yet. Most certainly not while she was still out in the middle of nowhere with a handful of soldiers and her most loyal guardian hunched on the neck of his horse.

There was no way of contemplating that now. She had to swallow the wave that was coming through her, to find something to focus on. The best thing she could come up with was keeping an eye on Loras.

He was struggling to stay on the horse, trying not to fall for every step that was clearly causing him pain; Margaery had tried to avoid the hardest spots of the road, but that wasn’t necessary. The mare was already doing it.

It looked like the animal understood how serious the situation was, so she had been avoiding anything that could’ve been a problem to her knight; there wasn’t a hole in the trail she hadn’t circumnavigated, a fallen branch she hadn’t dodged.

Even now, in the main road, the mare looked almost concerned.  She knew there was something wrong, she could feel that her master wasn’t his old self. Margaery had seen the way the mare used to go around: even when they were just on a stroll there was something in the beast that led people to anticipate the moment Loras would’ve launched her at full gallop, it was like a constantly skipping pace, like the animal was just restraining itself. Now that was all gone. The mare was cautious in every step, softening every movement and at the same time ready for what could’ve happened.

All the horses were nervous, indeed, feeling the trepidation in the humans around them. Both horses and soldiers were ready to start running at the first sign of something wrong.

There was no need for that though.

“Your Grace,” Willam slightly tugged at Margaery’s cape, his own cape actually, “We did it,”

He was smiling.

“Over there,” he pointed at something in the distance and when Margaery followed the direction of his finger she could see it too.

The army.

The Tyrell’s army, waiting for them.

They had camped at the side of the road to control it, and they were just waiting for them to arrive.

She could see their colours, green and gold, flashing in the plain, and she couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Loras!” she called him, “Look. Look over there. The army. We reached the army,” she covered her mouth to hide the joyous laugh which was escaping her lips. She simply couldn’t believe her eyes.

Nothing had ever been so beautiful.

Even Loras managed to raise his head and look in the right direction, and a little smile formed on his lips too.

“C’mon,” Margaery spurred the horse, promptly followed by the white mare that was quickly released from the rope that had kept her close till that moment; Margaery wouldn’t have allowed Loras to be seen as needy and excessively weak. He needed help, there was no questioning it, but their soldiers weren’t to know how much.

The small group quickly approached the army, and they were welcomed by the blowing of a horn.

A movement started the whole army. They all turned around to see what was coming to them, whether friend or foe, and they marvelled at the sight of that skinny group coming forward.

There were two figures in the middle, surrounded by a dozen more disposed as a fan around them.

In a matter of seconds the soldiers knew who they were.

Their queen ad their lord were coming back to them.

The ones closest to the end of the camp, the ones with a better view, started cheering and applauding, blowing horns many and many times in welcoming them.

“Loras, sit straight,” Margaery reached out to grab her brother’s right hand, “We have to make a good entrance, that’s how they’ll remember us for a while.”

He looked at her, almost asking her how she could think him capable of that now, but he settled for doing whatever she wanted, no matter how hard it was for him. Margaery was in charge now.

When they finally abandoned the road to start crossing the field that separated them from the camp, Margaery was beaming, at least on the outside; her men were in front of her, screaming their greeting, hitting their shields with their spears and clapping at their return.

When the crowd slit up in two wings to make them way Margaery raised her arm and Loras’s in victory.

They did it.

They were safe.

They were out of that wicked city, surrounded by men who would’ve died to protect them.

The soldiers were all cheering, screaming welcoming phrases for them as they passed in the corridor created just for their arrival.

Just in front of them was standing their father. He was waiting for them on foot, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He couldn’t almost believe his eyes.

“I told you I would’ve brought him back,” Margaery’s smile while dismounting from her horse was a little forced even if her words were trying to be joyous, and before she could rush to Loras their father was already there, helping him climb off the horse that had already lowered herself on her front legs to facilitate the task.

“My son,” Mace was hugging his firstborn, “It’s all over now.”

“He must rest. Where…” she started looking around for a tent, and a couple of soldiers hurried up to show her the right direction.

“The maester. We need a maester now,”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Willam was once again at her side, an arm around her waist once more to prevent her from falling on the ground; he’d been wise enough to use his cape to hide the gesture, “You must rest too, though,”

“Not that much. Help my brother,” she ordered, and another couple of soldiers rushed to do as they were told.

Before she could give anymore orders they were in their father’s tent, and Loras was being gently lowered on a pallet, where she joined him quickly. He was already asking for her.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” she kissed the back of his hand, holding it between her own, “You’ve been good, very good. I had no idea we would’ve actually managed to get here today. What’s important now is that you rest a little while we decide how to get home,” she squeezed his hand and let it go. She was reluctant to abandon the pallet, but she knew she had orders to give before being able to personally tend to her brother, so she motioned for her father to follow her along with Vyrwel.

As she was leaving she passed the maester, so she stopped him, “The scar on his forehead. It must disappear.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” he bowed before hurrying to his patient.

Margaery walked enough to be out of earshot before addressing the two men following her.

“Call the banners.”

“What?” Mace had a look of disbelief in his eyes, “Whom are you going to wedge war against? The Faith? The Lannisters?”

“No one,” she silenced him, “We don’t have the necessary strength to face a war right now, I want them to guard the borders. We’ll have soldiers waiting for us when we get home, and in case we need any kind of reinforcement they’ll be ready to come to our aid.”

“I don’t know if this is the best…”

She shot him a withering look.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Mace Tyrell was forced to surrender to his own daughter. He had to face the fact that the woman standing in front of him was his queen, and that she would’ve started acting like one even with her family.

Never in his life he would’ve imagined to see Margaery like that, covered in mud, blood and ashes, loose hair still wet clinging to a soldier’s cape, her ripped dress revealing too much of her scratched legs; and yet she’d never looked more majestic. Even at her coronation in King’s Landing, that was nothing compared to the woman standing in front of him. Something in her had changed, something had been unleashed, and now everything in her spoke of royalty.

She wasn’t his little girl anymore, a child he had to prepare the future to.

In that moment Mace realised that he was the old generation. He wasn’t the main character anymore, the one whose actions were keenly followed, he was a secondary character, a back-story.

It was Margaery’s turn.

“Order to break camp, we need to move.”

“Now, Your Grace?” Capitan Vyrwel asked.

“I don’t see how my words could’ve been mistaken.”

“We can’t move now, it’ll be sunset in an hour or two, at best. We can’t travel at night,”

“I’m not waiting in the middle of nowhere for that scum to come back and get us.”

“There’s no way to do otherwise, though. It’d be dangerous for both the men and the animals to move in the dark, and if the horses get injured we’ll have to slow down the entire march.”

“Use torches, then, I don’t care. We won’t wait here.”

“Margaery,” Mace put his hands on her shoulders, “You’re safe here. They won’t be able to get to you. There’s an army surrounding Loras and you, they couldn’t even get close.”

Despite everything, that was still his daughter, and he could still read something of her. She didn’t want to let it show, but all that strength, all that aggressiveness, were only masking her fear; she was so scared she wouldn’t have stopped running for days, but she couldn’t.

“We are not safe anywhere, but our best chance is Highgarden. We have to reach it,” she kept staring at them both, trying to find support in one of the two, but they weren’t going to agree with her.

“If we leave now, it’ll only be worse later.”

“You have to rest, Loras has to rest. Do you really want him to start a journey now? You’ve been with him for the last hours, I’ve only seen him for a couple minutes, and even I can see that such a thing could kill him. Allow him to take a break, to just sleep for a few hours. You should do the same,” her father stroked her shoulders to reassure her, but Margaery was still reluctant.

She couldn't trust them, trust that foreign land to welcome her. She'd tried once to call a new place home, and they all knew how well it had gone.

“We need to go home…” she uttered, her voice on the verge of breaking; she couldn't do it anymore, she couldn't be the strong leader anymore. She was the one in need of a break, of some time to think about all the things that had happened to her in the last months. The impossibly of doing so, of simply stopping for a little while, was driving her mad. Everything she had had to face, to find out that day, was about to overwhelm her now that she was in her father’s arms.

It was even worse than remembering her days at Storm’s End.

She had been a passer-by, a visitor, back then, but her father’s comforting presence reminded her of those almost forgotten days when the idea of the throne was something so foreign to her she couldn't almost recall them.

She was about to lose it when something diverted her from her thoughts.

It was a scream, wild, of pure pain, that startled them all.

It was a voice Margaery knew too well.

She pushed away her own need to scream in a heartbeat and rushed to her brother, followed by her father and Vyrwel.

When she reached the pallet what she saw made her stomach churn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The song is obviously not in Valyrian since I wouldn't be able to write one, all the credit goes to the amazing group Wardruna. If you have never heard of them I warmly suggest you do, they are amazing.  
> The song I chose is called Solringen, here's the link if you want to listen to the music too (for the first minute and something it's just instrumental, then you have the lyrics too): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuwpQc6Diqs
> 
> I hope you like this chapter, if you'd like me to add some flashbacks from the time at Storm's End please let me know :)
> 
> Thank you for keeping reading this!


	4. Chapter 4

The maester had reopened the wound on Loras’s forehead, making him scream for the unexpected pain; he had expected it in the Sept, but not there, not after all he had done to get back to what he considered home.

Mace stormed at his son’s side, while Margaery stood petrified where she was.

She had managed to get a glimpse of Loras’s wounds.

She had been able to see the cuts, the purple bruises whose colour witnessed how recent they were, all the places where his skin had been burnt and cut open.

She had been the one slashing his robe when they were still inside the walls of King's Landing, but that had been different; she hadn't focused on things she couldn't tolerate at the moment, so her brain had simply ignored them, failed to register them. She had skimmed over her brother's body without seeing it since she had so many other things to think about, like their survival, but now she was free to look at all those wounds.

She had the time to consider them, to think what could've possibly caused them, the ways they had been inflicted, and she felt sick.

She couldn't stay inside the tent anymore.

Margaery ran out of the tent and threw up.

She doubled over, coughing to expel everything inside her stomach.

She kept on coughing while a hand rested on her back.

“It's all right, Your Grace. It's over. It's all right,” Willam was massaging her back, trying to calm her down, but his queen couldn't stop gagging.

“You got out of there. You got _him_ out of there,” he passed an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. He knew it wasn't his place to hug his queen, but her husband was miles away, her brother was passed out on a pallet, and her father too concerned caring for his son to keep an eye on her too. He was the only one she had left.

Margaery coughed a few more times, finding shelter in the soldier’s arms, then she stirred, wiping at her mouth and weeping eyes.

“You both got put. You did well. You played the best game you could, and you survived. You both survived. No one would've thought that, Your Grace. When we heard what'd happened to you, we knew we wouldn't have seen you and Ser Loras again, we thought they would've killed him. Instead, you made him live. You saved his life,” Willam caressed his queen’s tangled hair, “You did your best, and he's here, alive. No one would've expected that. And for how much you can blame yourself for not having been able to do more, remember no one believed you would've managed to get him out of the city while he was still breathing.”

Margaery stared at him, big hazel eyes glazed by unshed tears, and she seemed to realise what she was doing.

“I have to get back inside,” she murmured.

“Of course,” Willam helped her gain an upright position and directed her toward the tent, where she staggered in the direction of the pallet.

It was a mess of blood, Loras fussing under the sheets, and she simply lowered herself on the pallet too, taking her brother in her arms and ignoring everyone around.

“It's all right now,” she whispered to his ear, “It's all over. You got out of there alive, that's all that matters,” she kissed his bloodied forehead, making him lean his head on her chest, “What’s important is that we got out,” Margaery cradled her brother in her arms, carding her fingers in his short hair. How strange that sensation was, how she missed his loose curls, “Now sleep, honey, that's all you need to do,” she tried to even her breath to reconcile his sleep, and the deep breaths she took to help him fall into a slumber managed to calm her down too.

The need to run and scream and hit something wasn't there anymore, all she cared about was how to make her brother feel better.

“We should look at you too, Your Grace,” the maester pointed out, “We saw you had scratches on your legs, I should take a look at them.”

“Now?” Margaery stared at him with a quirked eyebrow, completely ignoring her brother’s blood soaking her dress, “You want me to get up _now_?”

“Well, Your Grace, the longer…”

“You may leave, _now_ ,” she concisely dismissed him. She waited for the maester to exit the tent so that only her father and Vyrwel were still inside, then she rearranged herself to be at least half-sitting when making plans with them.

“So, how are we to get home?” She asked, gently stroking Loras’s shoulder; he was probably more passed out than asleep, but anyway he was curled up against Margaery’s side, drawing comfort from her presence.

“As we were saying before, not tonight,” her father brought a chair forward and Vyrwel was invited to do the same.

“No, not tonight.”

“We can get the men ready for a forced march and reach Highgarden in four days if you order so,” Vyrwel offered, “We have another problem, though.”

Margaery prompted him to go on since he seemed reluctant to finish his reasoning.

“I know you can ride, my queen, but we'll never manage to get Ser Loras on a horse and bring him home in four days alive.”

“After a night sleep he'll surely be able to,” Mace suggested.

“No, he won't,” Margaery’s voice wasn't sharp; she was simply stating the truth they were facing, “It's a miracle he's been able to walk all the way up here, we have to find another way.”

“What about a wagon?” was Vyrwel’s idea, “The wagon we use for the soldiers who get injured in battle is empty, we could use that one.”

“One of the wagons used for the supplies would be better...”

“Why?” Mace asked his daughter.

“The wagon for the injured soldiers is the most obvious place to look for us, if we shift the position of the supplies wagons to the middle of the line we'll be disguised among them and we'll have all the protection the army can provide.”

“Margaery, no one is going to come looking for you two.”

“The last time we weren't cautious enough Loras and I almost died, I don't care to repeat the experience if you don't mind,”

“We could easily put a few pallets in one of the supplies wagons, I see no problem there. But tomorrow.”

The two men agreed between them.

“We'll arrange everything for tomorrow morning, as for today you’ll rest here,” Mace got up, “I've had some water brought here for you if you want to take a bath or something,” he preferred to leave them some privacy. He would've gone somewhere else to sleep, that wasn't his place now. They were his children, but they'd been forced to rely only on each other in the past months, without him.

They needed to be alone in that moment too.

“Sleep, Margaery. It's all right now,” he recommended before leaving the tent followed by Vyrwel who bowed briefly.

Margaery would've really enjoyed the possibility of sleeping a bit, but she knew that wasn't possible; for how tired she was she had to remain alert, to be aware of her surroundings. The only thing she could do was drink a little water and remain with her brother, trying to forget what she had just seen.

And most of all, if she closed her eyes, all the images from the previous day showed up behind her eyelids. If she let her mind free to wander Loras’s voice and his confession kept replaying in her head, and she could do nothing but blame herself.

Loras should've been more cautious, that was implied, but she was the queen. He wasn't the one for strategic decisions, the one who had been trained to look for traps and loopholes in every situation.

She knew that, she should've been smarter, used spies to find out who the snitch was and then have him murdered in an alley before he could show up as a witness; she should've chosen her words more carefully as not to be involved in the situation, but her own imprisonment was something she hadn't been able to foreshadow.

Neither Olenna had.

None of them had been capable to prevent that situation from happening, and yet she felt it was her fault.

She was the one in the best position to do something, and all she had managed to get from that position had been getting locked up like an idiot.

Little did it mater that Cersei had suffered the same fate, that was not of her concern.

What was important was her brother, lying in that bed in a puddle of blood. She could do nothing but hug him, hold him close and let him know she was there for him, and at the same she knew she had many more things to do.

The first of them was finding a way to have Loras eat something. She could count his ribs if she were to caress his chest, but there was no way to make him swallow something solid at the moment, and even if she would've managed to wake him up there was no food she was aware of in the tent.

She had to ask someone for help, but showing up in the camp in that state was unthinkable. She knew she looked like a beggar with all the dirt on her skin and her torn dress, so she actually had to take that bath after all; she crawled out of the pallet trying not to cause Loras any discomfort, then she got up always keeping an eye on her brother to catch any sign of something wrong, but he was still fast asleep.

Or unconscious, but she didn't like that definition.

She got rid of the dirty dress, still wet and so soaked in blood she basically had to peel it off herself, and threw it in a dark corner of the tent.

She didn't want to see it ever again.

When she reached the tub the water was barely warm, but after she had seen how soiled her body was there was nothing keeping her from a bath; she lowered herself into the water and started scrubbing all the dirt away, as if removing any sign of the day from herself. She scrubbed her body with the brush until her skin was a bright pink and the scratches on her legs and arms had started lightly bleeding again, but she was finally free from any sign of that wicked city.

She then passed to her hair, not an easy task for someone used to have handmaids tending to her in every moment, but the need to feel free from the dirt of King’s Landing helped her in the process; in the round of minutes there was no more mud in her loose hair, and almost all the blood spilled from the Sparrow she had murdered had disappeared. There was no way to dry it though, so she quickly tied her long locks in a braid; she certainly wasn't at her best, but in comparison with what she had looked like up to a few minutes before  that was a magnificent result.

She was almost in the right state to get out of the tent, since it didn't seem she had just ran out of the brothel she had used to work in for years anymore, but she needed something to wear too; she had no idea where her trunks could be, though. Apparently her clothes had been stored elsewhere, but Mace had had some of Loras’s belongings brought there, so they were Margaery’s best option. Her father's clothes were too big for her, and even though Loras’s didn't fit perfectly they were her best option.

She wore one of her brother's silk shirts and a pair of trousers, using a belt to adjust them to her slim waist, then she secured the cape she had received upon meeting with their soldiers and left the tent with no further thought; if she were to consider she was abandoning Loras once again she would've never moved from the pallet, and her brother needed help. The bright side of having to use one of Loras’s belts was that there was already a place for her dagger.

“Your Grace,” there were guards at the entrance of the tent, she appreciated that, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Bring me a clean cloth, warm milk and honey,” she ordered, “And something to eat, your choice,” she now realised she was hungry too, not having eaten from the previous day; after Loras’s trial the mere idea of putting something in her stomach had made her feel sick.

She returned into the tent, loitering near the entrance to prevent anyone from disturbing Loras. She almost didn't dare looking at him from there, so she kept staring at the back of one of the guards left; when the other one returned with a tray she took it by herself and brought it inside the tent, not allowing anyone to get inside.

The trick with milk and honey was something she remembered from their childhood, when Loras and she had fallen sick and had had to be fed in that way to stay alive. It was something like a strange déjà-vu when she lowered herself once again on the pallet to make Loras lean against her chest and she dipped the cloth in the warm milk.

She dabbed Loras’s split lips with the mixture, trying to make him drink something, even a few drops at the time; the milk was both nutrient and useful to alleviate his thirst, while the honey was something that could've been useful to make him regain his strengths.

She probably spent an hour in the process, but she didn't care.

She was finally tending to her brother, helping him in a way that had been impossible to her in the last weeks and even in the last hours. They had had to run so fast she hadn't been able to consider also his condition, being forced to ignore his pain to save their lives. She had been aware of the pain she had been causing him, and at the same time she had had to ignore it; now it was finally the time to treat him with due care to make him feel loved and protected, even though he couldn't know yet.

It was something more selfish to Margaery.

It was more about her than about Loras.

Loras couldn't know what she was doing at the moment, but she felt like she was somehow compensating for the last months.

She had had to abandon him, to leave him at his own devices for too long.

They had always been incredibly close, the time Loras had spent at Storm’s End hadn't changed anything, and the impossibly of helping each other, to be separated for such a long time even knowing the distance between them was so little, was too much for her if she were to think about that.

“Very good, Loras, you've been very good,” she kissed him on the forehead, the part left free from the bandage, then she reached out to eat something too.

She didn't want to move from the pallet anymore, she only wanted to be with her brother.

Meanwhile, outside the tent, Mace Tyrell and Igor Vyrwel were speaking.

“Do we really need to shift the position of the supplies wagons?”

“The queen asked so,” there was a harshness in Vyrwel’s voice that shouldn't have been there. He had been the most supportive subject of his queen in the last two days, but he couldn't help reprobation from showing,

His lord’s kids had been fighting hard, especially his daughter, while he stood idly by doing nothing; Margaery had managed to survive and to thrive in the condition she had found herself in, she had managed to escape taking her brother with her, while the only useful thing Mace had done was listen to his daughter’s orders.

“Are we so sure the queen is in her right state of mind?” Mace hesitated in proffering those words, “She didn't exactly seem alright.”

“She gave an order, my lord, and she is our queen,” Vyrwel tried to get out of the awkward situation in a diplomatic way.

“I know, but she's also my daughter, and I know her well enough to know when she's reached her breaking point.”

“If you allow me to be brutally clear, my lord,” he waited for Mace’s nod of assent, “There’s one thing your daughter is sure about: she wants to get her brother back home, and all she cares about is Ser Loras’s safety. I may not know her as you do, but I've been with her in the last hours, and I can assure you she is no longer the girl we used to know,” Igor had been at the Tyrells’s service long enough to see the two siblings grow from childhood to adulthood, to see them become the lord and the lady they were. Seeing them trapped and imprisoned had been like a punch in the stomach to him.

“Do we really have time for her pretences?”

“She's trying to be cautious, my lord, I wouldn't call these pretences.”

Mace had to face the fact that not even his most trusted soldiers were responding to him anymore.

“So we'll move the wagons now and head toward Highgarden in the morning, then,” he sighted.

“We follow our queen’s orders.”

Mace had to admit his defeat, since there was no way of convincing one of his most trusted soldiers to do otherwise. Margaery and Loras had definitely taken his place in their soldiers’ hearts, and since Loras was in no condition to give orders even the military decisions were to be entrusted to Margaery.

After choosing the right wagon for the next morning Mace had nothing to do but going back to his tent to see his children; he had tried to give them some moments alone, but he had reached his limit.

He had realized after his return from Bravos how that had been but a trick from Cersei to keep him out of the way while she was disposing of his children, and he knew it was his fault if she had got the impression that removing any protection from the two siblings was such an easy move.

He had also realized that his daughter didn’t trust him at all.

Not that she didn’t love him, she did dearly, but after Loras’s arrest the first person she had turned to for help had been Olenna. Not him, the Lord of Highgarden and her father, but his mother.

Apparently an old woman commanded more respect than he did.

These thoughts were something foreign to him up to a few weeks before. He had always considered himself a respectable Lord, someone to look up to, but now his own daughter was proving him wrong.

If he were to think about his fall from his soldiers’ hearts the Battle of the Blackwaters hadn’t even been his idea. What had managed to gain his daughter a throne and him a sit in the Small Council had been Loras’s actions: he had been the one to convince the whole army to chase Stannis’s one, and even though that had been personal revenge more than a strategic decision, at least at first, Mace had to give his son the credit for being able to persuade an army that considered itself defeated having just lost its king to engage in another battle. Not only the Tyrell’s army had followed him without a second thought, but also the sixty thousand men Renly had left at Bitterbrigde.

Mace had played no role in that. He had simply given his consent from afar, and when he had informed his mother of Loras’s decision Olenna wasn’t simply already aware of what was going on, she had already given her blessing to the venture.

When he moved the flap of the tent to the side the image displaying in front of him was such a stark contrast with his previous thoughts that it took him a moment to take it in.

What startled him the most was the look he received from Margaery. Her head had turned in his direction with the same speed Mace had only seen in threatened predators.

“It’s just me,” he reassured her, and he distinctly heard the sound of metal clicking back into a sheath. Did Margaery have a weapon with her? And how came she was so ready to use it? He understood her feeling endangered, but such responsiveness could only come from a person used to wield a weapon.

“Are you alright?” he asked, approaching slowly and bringing a chair next to the pallet, “I didn’t have the time to ask.”

“Better than Loras for sure,” Margaery answered absentmindedly.

“You did it, eventually,” Mace tried to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen in the tent, “Your plan worked,”

“Worked,” she snorted, “Look how well it has worked,” with her chin she pointed at her brother, laying unconscious with his head on her chest.

“Your new plan, darling. We all know we failed with the first one,”

“Is the wagon ready for tomorrow?”

“They’re taking care about that as we speak,”

Margaery nodded her approval, letting silence settle once again over the three of them.

“If you want to sleep a bit I can stay with Loras,” Mace offered, “You really look like someone who could use to rest for a while.”

“I’m resting,” she retorted coldly, stroking her brother’s arm. His uneven breathing kept worrying her. She could say he was in pain even if he wasn’t awake, and despite the maester’s efforts he was still burning with a fever.

“I mean sleeping, Margaery. You can’t stay awake forever.”

“I’ll sleep when we’ll be home.”

“There’s no way you’ll manage to stay awake that long, so now go and rest for a bit. Or if you don’t want to move you can sleep here, there’s no need for you to leave,” he understood that the only chance he had to make her agree with what was in her best interest was giving her the chance not to part from her brother, “I’ll watch over you, and if anything should change I promise I’ll wake you up,”

“No, I have to stay awake,” Margaery’s voce was absent, as if her mind was elsewhere, “I can’t…”

“Margaery, you’re both safe here,” Mace repeated, “If you want to sleep you can, nothing bad is going to happen if you don’t control everything for a few hours.”

The idea was tempting, simply let go for a moment, but then Loras started fidgeting under the sheets.

His breathing was even more uneven than it had been a few minutes before, when it was already worrying Margaery. Now he was twisting around, convulsions shaking his entire body.

Father and daughter exchanged a look for a second, then Margaery started trying to hold her brother still, preventing him from causing himself any more harm.

“What can I…? Let me…”

“Go look for the maester!” she yelled at her father’s incompetence.

“Yes, yes…” Mace mumbled.

“Now!” there was no time, Loras wasn’t even breathing for what she could gather, “Guards!” Margaery called with a scream.

Two of the soldiers guarding the entrance of the tent, already warned by Mace’s exit, rushed in.

“Hold him still,” Margaery slipped from the pallet, conscious of the fact she wasn’t able to physically restrain her brother; Loras could be as weakened as he was, but he was no match to her, not even in that moment.

She could only watch him, her hands joint in front of her mouth in a silent prayer addressed to no one in particular; she could do nothing but try not to scream in despair.

“Move!” the maester stormed in, shoving everyone out of the way in the attempt to reach his patient.

“Your Grace,” a strong arm was once again circling Margaery’s shoulders, “Come with me,”

The girl turned around, staring in Willam’s blue eyes.

“I can’t leave him,”

“You’re of no use here. Get out,” the warm tone softened the commanding words, “Get out for at least a few minutes.”

Margaery turned around to check on her brother, but she couldn’t see past the backs of the people gathered around him. She could only hear him tossing and turning in the pallet, light moans of pain escaping from his lips.

“Come with me.”

Willam physically dragged her away from the tent, deliberately ignoring his Lord who had just returned to the tent; he had no time to care about his opinion now, ha had to spare his queen at least this show. He hadn’t been able to protect the family he was sworn to protect already once, now it was his duty to care for their wellbeing in any way possible.

“We won’t go far, I promise.”

There was a fire just a few paces outside the tent, so he led his queen there and made her sit in front of the flames, so they could keep her warm in the setting cold night.

“He’ll be alright, don’t worry,” he sat next to her, “Ser Loras is strong, he survived all this time alone in a cell, for how bad things can seem now he’s surrounded by friends and people who love him, people who only want to help him.”

Margaery nodded, looking straight into the fire until her eyes began to water, Willam didn’t know if for the fire or for all the pressure on her in that moment. It was natural for him to envelope her in a comforting embrace.

Margaery was a bit confused at first, but then she simply rested her head on his shoulder; she didn’t care what that could seem, what people could think, she only knew she was tired. Tired of being the only one planning for their sake, tired of being alone, tired of not having anyone to share her burden with. She simply was too tired to care.

She needed someone to take care of her now, to stop being the one in charge just for a moment.

She didn’t know how long she remained outside the tent, but she was in dazed state that didn’t allow her to register things happening around her; probably soldiers were spreading word something was wrong, whispering in the shadows of the tents their concern, running to and fro to inform their friends, sending someone to the central tent to gather a piece of information to share with the others. They were also probably gossiping in a hushed tone of their queen in front of the fire in the arms of one of her guards, despite Willam’s attempt to make her a little less recognizable by raising the hood of the cape over her head, surrounding her worried face with a dark-green halo.

She came back to reality only when Willam shook her gently, his comforting hand always on her shoulder.

“You may try to get back inside, your Grace.”

It was almost disconcerting to look in Margaery’s overwhelmed hazel eyes.

“The worst should be over, and it’s getting rather cold here,” Willam had no clue whether his queen was agreeing with him, but he meant what he was saying, so he decided to help her get up – according or against her will he was unsure – and make it to the tent.

The young woman was almost staggering when they reached the pulled over flaps of the pavilion, but his assistance was enough to let her in; from then on, it was up to her, he couldn’t help her anymore.

It wasn’t the physical support he wasn’t able to offer, but the psychological strength to face what was inside the tent.

Every time she looked at the bloodied pallet on which her brother was laying she only saw failure.

Her failure.

Her incapability at playing the game whose rules she had been taught her entire life.

“Loras…” she murmured, and when Mace turned around Willam let her go and took a step back.

“He’s feeling better now,” Mace offered her a hand to invite her to approach and see for herself, “Well, not better, but he isn’t tossing around anymore,”

“I gave him some sleeping herbs,” the maester explained, “If we were already at Highgarden I could do more, but for now it’s the best I can do,” his tone was almost apologetic since he was very aware of the fact his patient didn’t look well at all.

Loras was sleeping now, but Margaery could see it was a troubled sleep in which rest played no part. It was a drugged state of calm, bound to evaporate as soon as the herbs stopped doing their job.

“Would you like something to sleep too, Your Grace?” he hesitantly asked, looking carefully at his queen.

“No,” she shook her head, “I don’t need your help. Thank you for taking care of my brother,” Margaery dismissed him with the wave of a hand, “I’d ask you not to go too far, we could use your wisdom once more tonight.”

“Of course, my queen.”

Margaery cradled her brother once again in her arms, preparing herself for another sleepless night.

There was nothing she could do but breathing evenly and staring at the fabric of the tent, trying to shut her thoughts before they driven her mad.

She was still gazing in front of her without seeing anything actually when sunrise started igniting the field they had chosen as their camp.

“Your Grace, it’s time to leave,” a soldier entered the tent hoping not to scare her.

Margaery nodded, stirring to shake off the stiffness of the night spent unmoving.

She wordlessly helped to put Loras in the wagon they had chosen the previous night, and she crawled in after him, resuming her guarding role. She appreciated the fact that the whole base of the cart had been covered with different pallets, so they could both fit comfortably in the carriage.

They started moving toward Highgarden before the sun had sneaked up from behind the low hills on the horizon.

There wasn’t much to do in the moment but planning her revenge.

She had already spent the night, as many others before, revising her steps to point out all the mistakes she had made and play in her mind all the possible different choices and their eventual outcome, now it was time to leave all of that behind.

She wasn’t forgetting or forgiving anything, she was making room for much more productive thoughts.

There were many people she wanted dead, she only needed to understand how to make said deaths happen.

That was the thought that kept her company for the day and a half; she had only stopped sometimes to eat and wet Loras’s lips with some milk and honey, but except for those moments and the few minutes during which she had shortly nodded off she had been doing nothing else. She hadn’t left the cart even when the maester had come to check on Loras. Everything she could see to had already been taken care of, so all she could do was staying quiet in the wagon as her men brought her back home.

She was planning on how to make the High Sparrow beg for a quick ending of his sufferance when she felt a movement against her side.

Her eyes darted in her brother’s direction, just in time to see his eyelids flutter open.

“Loras,” she greeted him with a warm smile, “Hi, finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Forst of all, thank you for reading the forst part of my fic. I’ve been working on it for quite a while now, but I really needed it since I’m still not over Margaery and Loras’s deaths.  
> Thanks to @fireandsteelofangels (Tumblr) for the beautiful poem at the beginning.
> 
> Please let me now if you’ve enjoyed the fic so far!


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